#like you could tell he hated being a miner he hated his job and he hated the injustices he had to live with

[berrystarred]

Megatronus X Orion Pax

Part 1

Finally finished editing this! I mentioned this earlier when I posted my Megatronus piece. It's separated into sections so I'll post it that way.

This is a pre-war fic about Megatron and Optimus meeting when they were younger before the war. This takes place in me and my friends personal continuity so if anything is wrong continuity wise, that's why.

Hope you enjoy :)

Orion was sitting at the transport stop next to another Cybertronian. He watched the cars go by and waited for pickup.

The mech next to him casually pulled out a box of Cygarettes and placed one between his teeth before giving it a soft shake in Orion’s direction. It took him a second to realize they were being offered.

"O-oh, no thank you," He looked away quickly. The other bot only shrugged, tucked the box away and resumed his intense watch over the street.

Orion felt a little uncomfortable around the mech. He was large, at least larger than Orion. He was a steely silver; unpainted raw metal. His printing and build made him seem intimidating and his altmode was clearly something dangerous as well.

Orion uncrossed and recrossed his legs, nonchalantly shifting himself away from the bigger bot.

The mech clearly didn't notice, because he continued absently scanning the view.

"Why are you headed to Kaon? You're from here, right? Iacon?"

Orion jumped when the mech started speaking, surprised to realize he was the only one he could be asking.

"Oh, um… heh- yeah, I'm from here," His brow dropped when he heard the bot laugh a little, clearly satisfied at his correct guess, "And I'm going to Kaon for recreational reasons."

The bot laughed again, "Come on now, what's the real reason? It's research isn't it?"

Pax's face flushed at the accurate assumption.

"Well- I don't-” He gave up, “Ugh- fine, you got me… Why are you going to Kaon?" He asked cautiously; he knew he would be somewhat safe due to the council’s control there, but Kaon was well known for being riddled just below the surface with crime.

"I'm going home. I was on a small trip to Iacon. Kaon is where I live and where I work," He said it with a pride that was shadowed with disdain. He hated living in Kaon, clearly, but he found satisfaction in making the young data clerk uncomfortable.

"Hm, interesting. What do you do for a living?" Pax asked, expecting something uninteresting like a construction worker or a scavenger.

"I'm a gladiator, I used to be a miner." He brushed at the barely visible yellow paint on his helm. That explained the raw look.

Orion was feeling tense now, an Iaconian data clerk seated next to a bot whose job was to kill for entertainment.

The mech looked at him, making eye contact for the first time since they had started talking. The large silver mech was nearly silhouetted against the stormy sky behind him with only his red optics to illuminate his face and contrasted against the background.

"Hey, I have a match tomorrow. If you're still around how about you see for yourself? Could be something to research."

Pax was unsure if this was flirting, a trap, or a genuine suggestion; either way, he simply nodded, "Hm, Yeah- m-maybe." He hoped that his face wasn't still glowing, but from the look on the gladiator’s face, and the heat on his own, he was certain it was.

"Good. My name’s Megatronus by the way, Megatron in the arena."

"P-pax, Orion Pax." He stuttered out, not sure if he should even be telling the stranger that.

The transport arrived and Megatronus made his way to the sector for bots of his class, "See you then, Pax." With a short wave, he was gone.

"Yeah, see you then..." Orion waved slightly before he boarded the front block of the transport and continued his ride thinking about the gladiator.

Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3! :)

[nsokolow]

Transformers One: Charoite

Chapter Two

“So, I guess you’re my new secretary, huh?” Sentinel crossed his legs. “Chariot, right?”

It was a misnomer Charoite often got and hated…who on Cybertron was named “Chariot,” anyway? However, this was Sentinel Prime! Not to mention she had something very important to ask of him. It was part of the reason she took the position. “Oh, Charoite! Common mistake.

“Oh, my bad.” Sentinel chuckled, “Anyway, I’d like to congratulate you. You’re actually my first secretary! I usually prefer organize things myself or ask Airachnid do it if she’s in a good mood, but there’s some political matters that are getting more intense, so I thought it best to lessen my workload.”

“Ha, politics, right?” Charoite remarked, trying to sound familiar.

“Haha, right.” Sentinel leaned forward and folded his hands. “So, I wouldn’t worry too much. Your job is kinda simple; you’ll be organizing my meetings, managing my schedule, and create agendas and time my meetings.”

“Okay! Wasn’t worried! Got it!” Charoite nodded.

“Great!” Sentinel stood up. “I’ll show you to your office and your room. I’m sure you’ll do great, and who knows? Maybe if I find I can trust you enough, I’ll let you come with us on one of our expeditions. Maybe you’ll witness the Matrix of Leadership finally being found!”

“That would be amazing!” Charoite exclaimed louder than she meant to. She nearly laughed at Sentinel’s brief stunned expression. “I’d be famous! And we’d have our energon back!”

“Pretty much, yeah! Then again, when you work for me, you’re pretty much famous automatically. Come on!” Sentinel bent his arm and held it down.

“Oh wow! Okay!” Charoite tried to hook her arm in his, though she barely succeeded, given how much taller Sentinel was than her.

“Oh, uh, okay!” Sentinel dropped his arm. “Follow me!”

Sentinel lead Charoite to an elevator. He pressed a button with a downward arrow and the doors immediately opened. “After you!”

Charoite leapt into the elevator, Sentinel followed, then the elevator dropped down two floors.

Sentinel introduced Charoite to her desk and chair. Both had the same stone-like pattern of blue and gold like the couches, but the predominate color on the couches were gold rather than blue.

Charoite’s room, which was a floor below, was about the size of her old apartment, but had a more luxurious appearance. The walls were golden, and her sleeping pod was as well. The floor however was the same rich blue as was on the couches and desk set—and Sentinel.

Charoite grinned and squealed. “This is amazing! Then again, you’re Sentinel Prime, so yeah! Honestly, I was hoping it would be at least a step up from my old place, given I took the trouble of moving out, but this is like, ten steps up from my old place!”

“Glad you like it!” Sentinel gave her shoulder a playful tap. “We’re kinda similar. We appreciate the finer things in life. Anyway, I’ll let you get familiar with the place. I’ll be back in an hour at the most to tell you the plan for tomorrow.”

“Oh! Okay, thank you!”

During the hour, Charoite didn’t only spend the time getting acquainted with her room, but also with the different floors of the building. On one of the lower floors, there was a room that had rows of sleeping pods she assumed were for Sentinel’s guards, which surprised her, considering those blank-faced, golden bots weren’t sentient beings like the transformers or miners. Just mere tools that could walk and fight. Then again, they likely had to recharge. The floor below the rows of pods had a bar and a row of game consoles. She was thrilled to discover none of them were coin-operated, but free!

After what didn’t feel like a long gaming session—on all five games, Charoite gasped and hoped it hadn’t yet been an hour. She spread her dark blue wings, which matched the trimming on her body, and zoomed up the staircase and back up to her room. She realized she should be grateful for this short opportunity to exercise her wings. She would hopefully use them for her dream very soon.

She was relieved to see Sentinel had just stepped off the elevator onto the floor.

“Ah! Charoite! Did some exploring, I see.” Sentinel smiled as he approached her.

“Yeah! I didn’t know you had free games and a bar!”

Sentinel burst out laughing. “Well, yeah! I mean, it’s a big building, and I am Sentinel Prime!”

Charoite felt a mild sting. As if he implied she was stupid. Eh, probably didn’t mean it that way. “Okay, good point!” She pointed a casual finger his way.

“So, I have to take a trip to the surface tomorrow. Another search for the Matrix. While I’m gone, I want you to allow in whoever’s face is on my roster, which is on your desk. Depending on what they want or say, arrange meetings that fit my schedule, which I also put on your desk. Should be pretty simple, since everybody’s gonna know I’m gone.”

“Consider it done!”

“Great!” Sentinel gave her a wink. “Well, I’ll see you hopefully soon!”

Tension rose in Charoite. She didn’t know how long Sentinel would be gone, and she was scared she wouldn’t get another opportunity to ask him her question.

“Wait!” Charoite called just as Sentinel turned around.

He turned back to her. “Yes?”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

Sentinel smirked. “Really? Go on.”

“So…the Iacon 5000 is a few months away, and I had been practicing for it forever. It’s just…I was never able to get on the race roster because…”

Sentinel’s expression slightly loosened. “Why?”

Charoite sighed and rolled her eyes. “I take it you know who Darkwing is? Flying transforming bot, deep voice?”

Sentinel’s eyes shifted. “Yes…he’s one of my best racers. He also oversees the mines.”

Charoite didn’t expect to suddenly feel such an amount of dread. Why did I think it would be so easy to ask him? “Well, I was at this gym, and Darkwing was there. I knew who he was, given he was a racer, and I saw him around here and there. He left before I did, and when I was flying some loops, I looked out the window and saw Darkwing bump into some gray miner. When the miner tried to walk away, it looked like Darkwing was getting mad at him, which was stupid, considering he was the one who bumped into the miner. I couldn’t hear them, but it looked like the miner was trying to reason with him. He grabbed the miner and slammed him onto the ground, then punched him in the face.”

Sentinel’s eyes widened. “I see…”

“Something in me just snapped. I opened the window, flew out, then…basically did the same to Darkwing.”

“You tackled Darkwing and punched him in the face?” Sentinel doubled over with laughter. “I mean, it kinda sounds like he had it coming, but you’re just a little thing, even for a transforming bot!”

“Well…I probably caught him off-guard. I gotta say, it felt pretty good; I was protecting someone, and he always hogged the spaces at the gym. I was later embarrassed though, since a bunch of bots stared at me. Not to mention that what he did wasn’t illegal.”

Sentinel froze. He put his hand behind his head and looked off to the side. “Well, yeah; I’m…trying to work on some new laws that protect miners from getting treated like that by transformers.”

Charoite’s fear decreased more and more. Sentinel was being so understanding!

“The authorities saw it, and I got arrested and got probation. Somehow, the miner—I found out his name was D-16—testified against me!” Charoite rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. “Said I didn’t have a right to intervene, since he was his superior!” I have a charge on my record now, I’m not qualified to race anymore, so I almost gave up on my dream. Then I saw you accepted my application for the secretarial position, even when I mentioned I had a misdemeanor battery charge. I thought that maybe since you allowed me to work for you, maybe you’d make an exception for me so I could race? Or make the rules about having a criminal record a little looser?”

Sentinel’s eyes drifted off to the side. “Well, the criminal record rule is there to lessen the likelihood of cheaters being in the race; not to mention the cheating racers wouldn’t say a lot about me. However, if my own secretary can’t fly in the race, that would be…weird. It wouldn’t look good for me. Okay! I’ll tweak the rules, and you can race! Ha! You probably didn’t even dent Darkwing, anyway!”

“Are you serious? No way! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Charoite darted over to Snetinel and gave him a tight squeeze. She gasped and backed away when she realized what she did.

“Don’t mention it. Besides, your misdemeanor is actually part of the reason I hired you! I need someone who’s willing to get their hands a little dirty. You’ll be more willing to help me with my work no matter what it takes!”

Charoite felt even less anxious now. Something however felt a bit off about his last statement. How exactly would she be getting her hands dirty?

“Well, I’ll gather Airachnid and my guards and take off now. I’m leaving a few guards here for your safety. Until next time, future legend!” Sentinel pointed at her with both hands before he flew down the staircase.

[nik-barinova]

*gently hands you my farmer!Zoey info and Shane headcanons and then offers to drop my lore on them, but really for Zoey*

Zoey Kilduff

Full Name: Zoey Elaine Kilduff

Age: 32 (as of Yr 1)

Height: 5’10”

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Sexuality: Pansexual

Nationality: Scottish

Ethnicity: Romani, Indonesian, Indian, Afghani

Farm Name: Solasta Farm

Main Produce: Cheese, Jams, Flowers, Wine, Fruit Tree Fruits, Peppers

Primary Choice of Clothing: Gothic and casual

Loves: Tropical curry, Pepper poppers, Green tea, Iridium bar, Topaz, Prehistoric Skull

Likes: All Eggs, All Minerals, All Flowers (except Daffodil and Dandelion)

Neutral: Hazelnut, Ginger, Maki Roll, Holly Leek, Truffle, Clay, Seaweed

Dislikes: All Mushrooms, All Geodes, Cave Carrot, Pine Tar, Spring Onion, Qi Fruit

Hates: Mayo

Bio:

Daughter to a boxing legend and a late dancing queen, Zoey Kilduff virtually had to raise her younger siblings herself despite being the eldest triplet. Their father was not one to exactly get physical with his triplet children, but he does get in their head too much to the point of them developing serious anxiety and self esteem issues. Her father owned an MMA/Boxing club in Zuzu City, and every day after school, Zoey and her younger siblings would go to workout and train, sometimes going into the late hours.

Zoey never could remember much of her mother, except that she would protect her and her siblings from their father until one night she disappeared.

The only time Zoey ever recalled good moments was when her uncle would sneak the triplets out to a gridball game or a rock concert. Zoey and her uncle were close enough that she would end up calling him her “dad” later on, and so did her siblings.

Things only got worse, though, when her father decided to enter her in a series of boxing matches as a teen illegally by lying about her age. Zoey still had an impressive record, but she would come to school with multiple bruises and cuts, prompting school officials to question her about her home life. Zoey felt anxious to tell the truth, but she did what she believed was right. However, she was (supposedly) proven wrong by her father later that week.

Her father would not speak to her except for when he trained her, but he was much harsher on her than he would be towards her two other siblings. One evening, he would take her on a drive, just him and her, and have a “talk”; which was code for “not good, not good”. The drive was anxiety inducing for Zoey, and before she knew it, the “talk” turned into a shouting match between them.

The last thing the both of them could remember was a sudden flash of bright beams and a the sound of a truck horn.

Zoey woke up surrounded by her siblings, uncle, and grandparents as well as police. She could barely remember what had happened up until the wreck, but with what she could remember, her and her siblings’ father was finally arrested for various charges and would lose custody of the triplets and be left with their uncle. At the cost of being free from their father, Zoey was left a total arm amputee due to how bad the wreck was.

After much rehab, therapy, and support from her loved ones, Zoey and her siblings were able to finish high school, and eventually go on to graduate college. Though while the younger siblings went on to pursue their respective careers, Zoey had difficulty finding proper work and eventually settled for something calmer, thus landing her at a corporate office job with Joja Corp. At first, this was a great opportunity for her to find some sort of peace and calm for her going forward in life, it was definitely the most boring and tiring job for her until she realized this was not what she had in mind for her life.

Sure she was able to find more therapeutic alternatives like skull paintings, but living out the rest of her days sitting in a cubical?

That was until early in her thirties did she receive a letter from her dying grandfather that he had left her a huge inheritance: the old family farm Solasta Farm.

Once she realized this was a new chance at a second life, Zoey quit her job at Joja Corp, and quickly moved to Stardew Valley, truly giving herself a second chance at a new life.

Now if only she could get a chance to befriend a certain town drunk…

[transformersclandestine]

Opportunity

Megatron stood in his apartment’s living quarters in the darkness. The only illumination came from the neon glow of downtown Kaon through his blinds. The only noise came from his comlink, in conversation with a mysterious stranger he had met at Maccadam’s. Said stranger had given Megatron a vague gesture of employment - to what, Megatron had no idea. But this stranger, this Soundwave as he’d introduced himself, clearly had big ideas for the former miner.

“Hold on a nanoclick,” Megatron interrupted. “Working on what, exactly? You still haven’t given me any information, just a card and a name.”

“Excuse my enthusiasm, Megatron,” Soundwave apologized, “it’s like I said at Maccadam’s: not every day you come across someone with the bearings to stand up to a bot like Nitro.”

“I see in you great potential, Megatron. You stood against a bot twice your size with thrice his tenacity. Had the guards not pulled you two apart, you’d have his spark casing in your clutches.”

Megatron listened in silence to Soundwave’s praise. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with this entire conversation. Megatron was no fighter, at least so he claimed. But he couldn’t help but believe in some of the things Soundwave was saying. He had stood up against Nitro, he had nearly beaten the bot before they were separated. 

There was just one problem with it all: Soundwave was getting all the details correct. Megatron knew the police reports didn’t take his side of the story, they were getting all the information from Nitro and the other foremen at the mine. This perplexed Megatron and he interrupted yet again.

“You sound like you were there yourself, Soundwave. I must’ve missed you.”

Soundwave chuckled sinisterly.

“Let’s just say we have eyes all around.”

“Who’s we?”

Soundwave’s line sat silent for a bit. Megatron became concerned he was being traced or monitored. Then, the visored bot spoke up again.

“Tell you what, why don’t we meet at the office? I’ll show you around the place, what goes on and how you fit into everything, and then you can tell me what your choice is. Don’t like it? You can walk, no questions asked. Sound good?”

Megatron hesitated to respond. A trap, it sounded like a trap. He feared that going to this “office” would result in him being stripped of his plating and drained of fluids. Soundwave sensed the unease and cleared the air again.

“Trust me, you’re capable enough that if this were a trap, you’d walk out intact before any of us. It’s going to be a lot better than any job you plan on applying for.”

Megatron hated to admit it, but he was intensely curious about this proposition. He remembered what Orion Pax had said earlier that night at Maccadam’s about a job in the Iacon Vaults. It wasn’t that the offer was bad or anything, it just wasn’t the trajectory that Megatron had wanted for himself. The way Soundwave talked up Megatron, it made him seem like a trillion shanix. A moment’s hesitation later, Megatron responded.

“Send me the location.”

“Excellent,” Soundwave replied, “it’s transmitting to you now. We’ll be in touch.”

In rhythmic succession, the location message followed Soundwave ending the call. It was in Tarn, a sister polity of Kaon’s but one with a far seedier reputation. Megatron sighed. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

There was a reason few outsiders ventured to Tarn. From what Megatron could see upon his arrival, he couldn’t blame anyone. Tarn was an especially run-down polity; broken roads, dirty street corners, booster-abusing bots sleeping on said corners. The entire city appeared to be a ghost-town of decency and Megatron wondered just what exactly its leadership was doing to leave the rest of their populace in such a state.

As he neared the coordinates sent to him by Soundwave, he wondered if this was all worth it. He was trusting the word of a bot he had only met briefly at Maccadam’s, a sinister-sounding one to boot. Megatron couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all leading up to something that wasn’t good.

But what if it wasn’t? That thought also entered his head. What if all the secrecy and shady tactics were just a test? What if the job Soundwave was offering was something that, dare he thought, Megatron liked?

His thoughts were interrupted by one of the drug-addled bots scrambling up to Megatron with an outstretched hand. Though their dilapidated appearance was certainly shocking, their face was a kindly smile, as if they were unaware of the decay of their own bodies.

“Spare some shanix?” The broken-down bot asked Megatron. Feeling guilty and generous, Megatron pulled a few tokens from his pockets and handed them

to the bot. He tipped his head in thanks and began to turn away before Megatron gently grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving.

“What happened to this city?” Megatron asked the bot. The rusting old-timer simply sighed and shook his head. 

“The Senate is what happened,” he answered, “they’ve become a government for the richer polities.”

Megatron was startled by the bot’s sincerity. He motioned for the bot to follow him as he walked closer to Soundwave’s coordinates. The rusting vagrant continued his mourning, briefly stopping to introduce himself as Oil Pan.

“They leave us with barely an income to keep going. Most of us spend it on circuit-boosters…only thing we can really do to keep the rust pains away. They won’t deliver vaccines here cuz there’s barely any of us here.”

With each revelation, Megatron became furious. Tarn was a far cry from Kaon, itself a more blue-collar and relatively poorer part of Cybertron. But this…this was just a hellscape. How any bot could live in these conditions escaped Megatron.

“Far as I’m concerned,” Oil Pan continued, “the Senate’s just waiting for all of us to fall to pieces. Then they’ll annex the city as part of a mining operation or something.”

Their conversation ended abruptly as they approached the meeting location. A block ahead, the silhouette of Soundwave lingered underneath one of the few operable street lamps. He stood with an imposing purpose and the blazing glow of his crimson visor penetrated the sharp shadows surrounding him. Oil Pan shifted slightly and cowered, turning away to leave the area, apologizing for a nonexistent faux pas. Megatron turned and held out a hand, hoping the bot would stick around for one last question. The bot shivered and coughed, ignoring Megatron and slipping away into a nearby alley.

Soundwave approached Megatron and greeted him.

“Glad you chose to pursue. Hope you got your shots; bots like those carry all kinds of ailments.”

There was an uneasy pause. Megatron felt it more than Soundwave. The visored bot broke the silence by leading Megatron towards a large, dome-shaped building.

“Let me show you around.”

The domed building was purple in coloration with golden details. There was clear wear on it, yet it appeared to be the most well-maintained out of any structure in Tarn. From the streets outside, Megatron could make out roaring applause coming from inside. Peppering through the roaring cheers were striking sounds of metal clashing. He grew increasingly suspicious as Soundwave led him into the building’s interior.

Walking through dimly lit corridors, Soundwave said nothing. The inner portion of the building was filled with rest areas and bots relaxing, talking, and arm-wrestling. Each one brandished scars all across their bodies. Coupled with the raucous noise from the audience on the other side of the walls, Megatron’s fears were realized.

This was a fight pit, and Soundwave had selected him as their new warrior.

Approaching a more brightly decorated area of the arena, Soundwave led Megatron through a curtain into a private box seat. The view of the arena was spectacular and Megatron took in the extraordinary view of hundreds of spectators, each bots of all makes and models, from the old and broken to the new and shiny. In another private box to his north, a particularly noteworthy bot stood. He was of an imposing height, thin in build with one hand ending in a laser cannon and a penetrating gaze embodied by a single golden optic.

“Is that…” Megatron wondered aloud.

“Cybertron’s greatest military commander, the one and only Shockwave,” a voice in the box responded, “Some of his Squadron X units are regular contenders, scouted from this very pit.”

The voice belonged to an imposing bot with a grand wingspan that stretched over the back of his seat. Atop his head sat a pair of horns in an ornate configuration. Without turning, he motioned for Megatron to approach and offered the empty seat to his left. Soundwave stood guard near the entrance as Megatron cautiously sat down and came face to face with the knowledgeable spectator. His horned visage was accompanied by further elaborate features: the crown resembled an avian creature, with its own set of eyes above the bot’s own. Another regal-looking pair of golden wings jutted from his chest further adding to the embellished look of this stranger. He locked eyes with Megatron and smiled, gesturing towards the arena where another spectacle was set to begin.

From the vantage point of the box, Megatron could clearly make out the brawling brutes in the middle of the arena. One was a hulking teal and purple bot with a cycloptic eye, brandishing an enormous mace and currently winning his exchange. His opponent was a smaller bot clad in red with a mohawk-like crest. The cyclops bot was forcing the mace against the red bot’s shield, which was buckling under the pressure. Megatron watched in awe as the cyclops bot suddenly flexed hard against the shield, causing the red bot’s knees to buckle. Taking advantage in rapid succession, the cyclops bot kicked his opponent in the gut, causing him to fly backwards, the shield shattering in the process. Dazed and clearly beaten, the red bot could only audibly concede as the cyclops bot advanced upon him and held his head under the tip of the mace. The bell rang and the fight was over. Extending a helping claw, the cyclops bot helped his opponent to his feet and the two shook hands.

The crowd roared and Megatron’s extravagant host applauded in quiet appreciation. 

“Another well-fought battle from our current champion, Lugnut. Hails from the same polity as you, Megatron,” the regal bot explained. He waved his hand over the armrest of his chair and a bottle of fancy looking engex popped up out of an automated trapdoor. Pouring some of the liquid into two glasses, he offered one to Megatron who took it politely. The bot took a sip and began explaining further.

“Soundwave, my finest scouter, has told me a lot about you, Megatron. I suppose introductions are in order.”

The bot stood up and flexed his wings outward. Nearby audience members noticed the bot and gave a thunderous applause. The winged host gave nonchalant waves to his adoring public and turned back to Megatron.

“They’ve given me many nicknames here in this arena. ‘The Emperor of Destruction’, ‘The Red Geist’...but you can call me Deathsaurus. I am the overseer of these combat games.”

Megatron was taken back by the sheer theatricality of the bot standing before him. It certainly seemed like this Deathsaurus believed himself to be some kind of superstar. From his ornate look and boastful introduction, he definitely took extreme vanity in his character.

Deathsaurus sat down and relaxed again with another sip of the fine engex.

“This place is something of a…passion project, you could say. I too began life in a doldrum blue-collar job. But Tarn is a rough place and the heat of sustained workloads and overbearing deadlines by the Senate just caused everyone to be…angry all the time. We needed an outlet, not to kill or cause irreparable damage, but just a means for all those who’ve been worked to the bone to let off some steam. Of course, it also makes for hearty entertainment.”

It was hard for Megatron to take what Deathsaurus was saying seriously. The entire time he had been in his presence, it was like looking at a caricature of something found in ancient myth. He was boasting about starting a fight club to let loose after a hard day’s work. It just didn’t sit right with Megatron.

But then that creeping feeling in the back of his head made its way forward again; the same feeling he had felt when Soundwave was hyping up Megatron over the comlink. Something was telling Megatron that what Deathsaurus was saying actually had merit to it. Sure, why shouldn’t bots have a way to take out their anger in a safe manner? No irreparable damage, that’s what Deathsaurus had said. 

His host could sense Megatron’s inner conflict. Deathsaurus dropped his tone of voice to a lower, more serious manner. 

“If what Soundwave is telling me is true, if you really were able to take down an old battle-hardened bot like Nitro, that’d give you a servo up on at least half of my current roster.”

Megatron finally spoke up, right after a healthy gulp of the engex to steady his nerves.

“Look, Deathsaurus, I appreciate the confidence boost. I appreciate your scouter taking an interest in my so-called “abilities”. But I’m not a fighter. What happened with Nitro was a massive mistake, something I never want to be capable of doing again.”

Deathsaurus was unfazed by Megatron’s denial.

“Well, there’s no going back on that, now is there Megatron?”

“What do you mean?”

“You say you don’t want to be ‘capable’ of doing that again? Well, I’m afraid you already are. Always have been. That’s called potential. What you did to Nitro wasn’t some freak accident. It was a preview of a true measure of your inner strength. Bots like him, they may have fought for the Cybertronian Self Defense Forces in the past, but that doesn’t give them the right to treat the less-fortunate like what they did to you.”

Deathsaurus’ tone grew more intense and he rose from his chair, taking his attention away from Megatron and shifting towards making a grand speech for all in attendance to hear.

“In this arena, all are one. United by a common goal: strength through power! Your abilities as fighters give you the strength to take on daily life with gritted teeth and tenacious fury! And those in attendance, take what these fighters present and use it yourself! Take back the power stricken from you by the Senate! Make your life MEAN something!”

The arena exploded and Deathsaurus raised his arms, soaking in the adulation from the cheering crowds and the gladiators stationed in the center of the arena who raised their fists in solidarity. 

He turned back to Megatron with that same smile he welcomed him into the box with.

“You are more than just a lowly miner, Megatron. Your name deserves to be echoed throughout these halls, a vicarious high for those without the gears and grinders to step foot into this arena. The only thing left for you now is to seize that opportunity. Become the champion I see in you now.”

Megatron couldn’t believe his own thoughts but somehow, through either unseen mental manipulation or just a very charismatic and persuasive speech, Deathsaurus had opened his eyes. Becoming a fighter here: it wouldn’t just be a better paycheck, it would mean becoming a symbol for those who had their own Nitros in life. Megatron’s mind raced at the possibilities this career could earn him, each more enticing than the last. He would be free of tiring manual labor, of increased workloads sent down from laissez faire governments. No more dreading the night’s stasis, sluggishly waking up the next morning to return to a pointless grind for microns on the shanix. This…felt right for him.

“...Okay,” Megatron finally responded, “I’m in. With the proper training I’m sure-”

He was interrupted by a belly-laugh from Deathsaurus.

“Training? Oh, I neglected to mention: here, we do things a little differently.”

Deathsaurus snapped his fingers and at once, a large, bomber-like aircraft soared up into the private box, colliding with Megatron and knocking the steam out of his internal engine. The aircraft swooped around and, with the dazed Megatron in tow, flew right back down to the center of the arena, dropping off Megatron at one end and transforming into the towering figure of Lugnut in the other.

Lugnut brandished his giant mace from his back and stood firm. Megatron staggered to find his footing before realizing what had just happened. He glanced back in horror at Deathsaurus, who sat unperturbed in his private box, waving another glass of luxury engex and winking deviously at Megatron.

The shaken bot looked across the field at his giant opponent who was eager to begin.

“No better training, newbie,” Lugnut growled, “than getting right into the action!”

[coreychick]

Chapter 23: The Reason

Part of the In the Dark Series: 18+ Smut & Story /Romance and Adventure Din X Fem!Reader Insert

Just a reminder, I do not post specific trigger warnings, so if you have triggers, this may not be a story for you. Read at your own risk.

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A fiery burn flicks under your skin as Pershing pricks your arm with a needle, sending another round of a mysterious purple elixir, coursing through your body. He says it’s just vitamins and rare minerals. Something about that explanation gives you a queasy feeling in your stomach- not that you believe him- likely there’s something more sinister threading its way through your system. Whatever it is, he hasn’t let you miss a dose since you arrived, several weeks ago. 

You don’t fight back anymore. You learned early on, that fighting back gets you the special needle-the one that comes with the blue liquid. The one they stab into your neck, that knocks you out completely. You’d wake up hours later, covered in bruises, your body and muscles aching, with no knowledge of what they did to you while you were out. You hated not knowing. No, it's better to let them poke and prod. At least then, you knew what was happening. The idea of them, having full access to your unconscious body and waking up with no memory of it, was much worse than the alternative. Either way, they are going to do what they are going to do. It seems smarter to stay silent. To observe and learn what you can, to formulate a decent escape plan- cause right now, you’ve got nothing. 

One walk from the brig to Pershing’s lab showed you that the ship you were on was massive. It likely could carry a crew of a thousand, though by all appearances, it’s  running on minimal staff. Small squads of storm troopers, dressed in the same standard issue white plastoid armor as the two you killed, when you first arrived. Crew members of varying rank travel the halls, but there are few enough that you are beginning to recognize faces. 

And then there’s Pershing. Lab Coat , from all those months ago, back on Navarro. He’s clearly intelligent, but lacking in backbone. Mando taught you to assess your opponents at the offset, determine their weaknesses, and so far, Pershing is the only weakness you can detect on this massive flying fortress. 

You’d gone through all of your options at the start. Flee? Where was there to go? Gideon’s ship isn’t likely to make port anytime soon. Crew come and go via shuttle, along with supplies. In fact, this ship probably never stops moving, and one look at Pershing’s fancy ass laboratory tells you that this place might have been the intended destination for your capture all along. Commandeer a smaller transport ship? A memorized ignition sequence for a pre-empire Razor Crest, does not a pilot make. 

But there is something about Pershing that tugs at you. A small, nearly indistinguishable inkling that maybe he doesn’t want to be here either. But yet, he is. And he doesn’t put up a fight when orders are issued. Again, no backbone. Still, he might be your only chance of escape. If you could turn him into an ally, get him to see you as a fellow human being, maybe he can help you escape. 

Sometimes, Pershing is joined by an officer, sent to help him with certain tasks. He wears a gray uniform, sporting a few decorations on his lapel. Zero pleasantries are exchanged between the two giving the already cold laboratory an icy chill. The officer seems perturbed that he has to assist the dorky, big-brain at all, probably ordered away from his normal posting of - who the hell cares- or whatever cool job he thinks is more important.

When he’s in the room, Pershing shuts down, completely ignoring every word you say, operating on auto-pilot, as if you didn’t exist at all- just another squeaking lab rat in the room. Officer Dickhead, on the other hand, has very little patience for your commentary, opinions on how his hat makes his head look like a penis, not excluded. He swipes a syringe full of Big Blue off the metal tray, threatening to give you the big sleep, if you don’t shut your ‘smart mouth’. There’s a victorious gleam in his eye when you acquiesce, that rankles your pride- so you smile back, listing off all his vulnerable spots in your head. Throat, eyes, stomach, kidneys, groin….definitely groin.  

Pershing shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his chin going down so he can avoid eye contact with either one of you. Officer Dickhead , because he’s intimidated, and you, because maybe he’s a little ashamed. When Officer Dickhead leaves, and there’s nobody else in the room, Pershing talks to you, almost like a living being and not some sort of science experiment. 

“I wish you wouldn’t provoke him like that.” he says, scanning your face with a little red light, for the umteenth time.

“I wish you would.” you snap back. 

He lowers his gaze to examine the readouts from his little scanner, jotting notes onto his clipboard. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. “You don’t seem like the type of person who wants to hurt people.”

“I’m not.” he says, defensively with a visible bob of his throat. “I’m here for the science…and, it’s not as if I have much choice in the matter.”

The opening you’ve been waiting for…

You place your hand on his forearm. His pen stops moving as he stares at your hand.

 “Then let's work together. We can help each other, we can both get out of here.” 

He turns away, leaving your hand to drop at your side.

“Impossible. There is no way out.The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on.” 

The utter certainty in his voice is defeating. You want to yell, to scream that he’s a coward, because he won’t even try. Somehow, you manage to hold back. You maintain your cool, reminding yourself that you don’t have the foggiest idea how he ended up here and what he might have lost along the way. You’ll just have to keep chipping away, build up his confidence, and show him that there’s a chance. But the disappointment at his words must be written on your face.

“Please, don’t look at me like that.” he mutters.

You remain silent. 

“You know, things could be much better for you, if you’d only cooperate,” he continues.

Not this again…

For weeks, Pershing has been grilling you on what abilities you have. You decided at the very beginning, not to give anything away. It’s the only card you have to play. They want you because you have abilities, but perhaps if you could convince them otherwise….. they’d what? Pull up to the nearest starport, and drop you off? No, but your survival instincts are telling you not to give them the one thing they want the most from you. So, from day one, you’ve denied, denied, denied. 

“Look, I’ve nearly exhausted the testing I can do, I can’t stall things for much longer. If you don’t give us what we need, Gideon will pry it out of you. Do you understand?”

“Stall? Stall for what? You won’t even tell me why I am here!” you snap back. Well, so much for keeping my cool. 

“Shhhh.” he says, placating you with raised palms. “They’ll send him back in if they think you’re being difficult again- neither of us wants that.”

“I’m not stupid. I’ve heard the guards whispering in the halls. You’re a clone scientist, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just stares back at you through tinted lenses in silence, debating with himself what to tell you.

“So, you intend to what? Clone me? Is that it?”

Again, silence.

“Bold move Pershing, most consider one of me too much to deal with.”

“Not you,” he says, surprising you. You tilt your head in question, giving him the space to answer.

He takes a step toward you, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper. This is it. He’s about to tell you something vital.

“It’s not you we intend to clone….it’s your offspring.”

Your head snaps back with a jolt of confusion, your brain scrambling to make sense of his words.

“I hate to break it to you doc, but I don’t have any offspring.”

“You will.” he says plainly. 

It makes sense now. The daily injections, the sore muscles and cramping. Your eyes skim the room and land on the metal cylinder- a cryofreezer- to the side. You’ve seen Pershing putting little vials in it. 

“You took…my eggs?” you can barely get the words out, disbelief and fear clouding your brain. 

“Yes, we have harvested some eggs, but that’s only as a precaution, if the main stratagem fails.”

Harvest, eggs.  The words make you instantly nauseous. 

“The main stratagem?” Your heart pounds. Maintain! Maintain control! 

“Gideon would prefer to harvest the eggs and dispose of you after you’ve produced a viable subject.” He leans in a little closer. “But I have convinced him that we will have much more success, if we replicate nature’s process as closely as possible.”

Your head is swimming. Nothing makes sense. 

You shake your head. “I don’t understand, what does that mean?”

“You will conceive, carry, and possibly even raise the child as your own, under strict guidance and training of course, but don’t you see? I’ve convinced him that you don’t have to die now. I saved you.”

“Saved me?” Your breathing grows heavier. “You expect me to give up my child to… the empire?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Try not to look at it that way.”

“What way should I look at it?” you say through clenched teeth, your growing anger, duels for dominance over your fear and disgust. 

“We will be responsible for creating the most powerful being this galaxy has ever seen.”

We? You shake your head in defiance. 

“You’re wrong. I’ve told you, I hold no power.”

“We both know that is a lie. I’ve tested your blood, your M-count is significant, you’ve already tapped into an ability that few- if any- have been reported to channel, with no training, and your personal background makes you an ideal vessel.”

What the hell is an M count? What ability is he referring to?” 

“My personal background?” 

“Yes. As far as I can tell, your ability suggests a strength that can be traced back several generations, making you very powerful. Albeit, your source of power is untapped, it is still there. And your station as an orphan is beneficial.” 

Lab rat, indeed. 

“Beneficial? Because nobody will come looking for me?”

“Because you haven't been influenced by outside sources.”

Is he referring to Jedi?

“And what of a father? Have you kidnapped a Jedi male as well, or does Gideon intend to be the sperm donor himself?”

“No. Gideon doesn’t have the ability to wield the force. We have searched high and low for the optimal candidate. Unfortunately, the pool was drastically cut down after eliminating non-compatible species for breeding.”  

“Breeding!? Do you hear yourself? I was wrong about you. You’re sicker than all of them!” You spring from the table, launching yourself at Pershing. You both tumble to the ground as your hands wring his scrawny neck. His plasspecs are knocked askew and despite his lack of mental backbone, he still has enough strength to fight back physically. He pushes one of your hands away, breaking the hold you have on his neck, long enough to shout out for help. Sirens begin wailing as the labroom door opens and heavy footsteps are heard behind you. You pay them no attention, continuing your attempt to strangle every last breath out of him, seeing nothing but red. 

An electric shock blasts you from behind. Your back constricts violently and every muscle in your body goes rigid and the familiar feeling of getting hit by a stun blaster vibrates your bones from the inside out. It feels like being struck by a bolt of lightning, and as the shockwave dissipates, it leaves behind a swarm of bees crawling under your skin. Your arms fall to the side and your body goes slack just as two strong arms catch you from behind. The paralytic effect works instantaneously, and you know from experience that it will be several long minutes before regaining any type of control of your limbs. Officer Dickhead presses his clammy cheek up against yours from behind, forcing your head to the side. 

“That’s it. So much better this way, don’t you think?” he says, dragging your body backward toward the table. 

He maneuvers you up and on top, your arms falling open, heedless to mind the orders you're silently shouting to them. Move! Claw his eyes out! Tear him to pieces! You have no control, your body is helpless to do more than keep breathing and blink. He comes around to the side of the table. A tear slips out of the corner of your eye. Not from fear, but born of pure anger. The violation, the knowledge of what they have already stolen from you…it’s almost too much to bear. 

“You think you’re so smart…so funny.” he says, tracing the path of your tear with the tip of his stun blaster. The barrel is hot from its recent use, leaving a welting line behind. 

“Look at you. Not so funny now, are we? Now..you’re just a pet. Leashed, soon to be broken, domesticated.” His voice lowers, just above a whisper. “I will enjoy watching them break you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of looking into your eyes when he speaks to you. 

The woosh of the labroom door precedes more heavy footfall, and for the first time in several weeks, you hear the unmistakable voice of Moff Gideon. Officer Dickhead’s back straightens, coming to attention and falling silent as his superior addresses the room. Gideon takes in the scene, pausing a few extra seconds on the officer. 

“Dr. Pershing. We have a problem here?”

“No, sir. Everything is under control now.”

“Good. I want a full update. Where do we stand?”

Pershing hesitates a little, but responds in turn. 

“Well, sir. She’s very healthy. All tests indicate she’ll be an ideal carrier.”

“Very good. When do we expect we can proceed to the next step?”

“A few more weeks. She has some type of Moltok herbal concoction in her system- it’s very effective at preventing conception. It’s not something I can remove or that bacta can fix, it simply needs to run its course. However, the levels are dropping everyday. I anticipate it will fully be out of her system in a few weeks.” 

Thank the Maker for Moltok birth control. 

Gideon inhales, clearly disappointed at the hurtle in his timeline. 

“And what of the speculative donors?”

“Well, I’ve narrowed down the donor pool to two potentials. When we exit hyperspace, I will send a summons for them. I will need to bring them both aboard for testing first, to determine which will give us the highest probable success rate.” 

“Which sith are we speaking of?” 

What the hell is a sith?

Pershing looks back down at his clipboard, flipping several papers over. 

“Flint…”

“Flint? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. His mastery of the force is impressive, he’s quite skilled with the saber and his telekinetic abilities are reported to rival even..”

“Who else?” Gideon interrupts.

Pershing looks back down at his paper, trying to decide whether or not he should continue with the next name.

“Carnor Jax.”

“Ahhh. Carnor Jax.”

“Yes sir.” Pershing confirms.

“If the two prove to be equal to the task, push for Jax. As a former member of the Imperial Royal Guard, his ambitions are more in line with our directive.”

“Understood.” Pershing agrees.

“Anything else?”

Pershing looks at you on the table. You want to scream, to voice your disgust, to threaten, to call out for help- anything, but your vocal cords won’t produce any sound. 

“Yes, sir.” They turn their backs to speak more quietly, but you can still make out the gist of the conversation. 

“Force-wielders grow more powerful over time, the more they use, they practice….. She’s powerful, but I don’t think she comprehends what she is capable of. She denies all of it. Her power…it lies dormant. I fear that if we do not awaken it somehow…. “

“You don’t think the ability will pass on to the offspring?”

“The power- it’s not something I can just extract and inject, we know that now. It’s beyond my ability to just recreate. I’ve seen it in testing the others. When force users wield their powers, their numbers climb. I believe the highest chance of success at passing it on, rests with her… exercising use.”

Gideon considers Pershing’s theory.

“What about Lord Hethrir?”

Pershing looks back through his notes. “Sir?”

“He was enthusiastic about the prospect of donating, even had suggestions for alternative experiments regarding force-sensitives.”

“He is not human. He is Firrerreo.”

“Are they not compatible breeders?”

Breeders? Fucking Breeders….like I’m some fucking broodmare. 

“They’re DNA is near-human. I suppose it is possible, though I’d have to do some research. I’m not aware if the two can successfully reproduce.”

“Don’t rule him out. In addition to his telekinetic abilities, it’s said that he can suppress force potential in others. If he can suppress it, perhaps he can also awaken it.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Until then…” he says, walking over to the table to stare down at you.

“We’ll take matters into our own hands.”

“Sir?” Pershing asks. 

“Prepare a bacta tank….and secure an IT-O.”

“Join me for a walk.” Gideon says, sometime later when you’ve regained the use of your limbs. Every muscle in your body aches as if you’d just climbed to the peak of the galaxy’s tallest mountain range. 

You follow alongside, listening to the sound of trooper footsteps in perfect synchronization, pounding the floor behind you. Officer Dickhead follows too, several steps back. You keep your eyes forward as they lead you through the halls, on a route you’ve never taken before. By now, you’ve learned the path from brig to lab, having made the trip twice a day, every day since you’ve arrived- but this, this is new. 

You eye the hilt of the weapon Gideon carries at his side, that wicked looking black blade he waved in front of your face when you first met. It’s temping for sure, but your hands are shackled and even if you could snatch it, you have no idea how to wield a sword. Gideon knows this, as he is clearly not worried about leaving it within your arms reach. He’s practically taunting you with it. 

As you round the corner, Gideon punches in a sequence on a large control panel. Behind it, two large double doors retract. He enters a long hall ahead of you. You slowly follow, eyes fixated on the sight before you. The walls are lined with rows of large battle droids. Memories spring forth, of your capture, of the way they seemed invincible in those moments. Their exoskeletons are eerie, even in their deactivated state, docked in their ports, and illuminated by the glow of red light- dark reapers slumbering in upright metal coffins. 

“Impressive, aren’t they?”

You ignore him, trying not to outwardly appear as staggered as you feel. Somehow, over the past weeks, you had failed to consider that the troopers had been here all along. Back on Tython, there were several, maybe four or five that had cornered you at the rock. Here, there must be dozens. 

“A new generation of troopers, superior in every way to the ones that came before. Capable of flight, impervious to blaster fire and flame….heavily armed and with a strength twice that of its predecessor.”

It makes sense to you now, why Moff Gideon’s ship seems to run on minimal staff. A garrison of a few dozen dark troopers probably replaces hundreds of storm troopers. Maker knows they fall like bowling pins. But these….

“Dr. Pershing tells me you’re resolved to remain in denial. I must admit, for the longest time, I couldn’t decide whether you’ve actually convinced yourself, or….”

“Or what?” you finally say back.

“Or if you were simply holding out. Stalling…in hopes of a rescue.” 

You laugh bitterly. “I learned long ago not to waste my time waiting for someone to rescue me.”

“Is that so?”

“And who would rescue me? I thought nothing escaped your notice Gideon? Except that must not be true, because you’ve obviously failed to notice that I don’t have a single friend in this galaxy or any other.”

He smiles and takes a step closer to you. 

“Take a good look at where you are. There is no escape, and as good as your decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, is- he is no match for what you see before you.”

“Why don’t you take a look around? You obviously can’t see what is right in front of your face. I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“Based on what?!” you snap back. “A little rumor you heard? That story was fabricated by a bunch of nuns, desperate to get a boy adopted before his eighteenth birthday. And it worked like a charm! Did you read the headlines? ‘ Miracle boy walks after life threatening fall, Claims angel saved his life’. And guess what? It wasn’t more than a week before he was adopted by a rich family on Alderaan. Did they tell you that he also soaked in a bacta tank for weeks? Or did the kind, sweet, nuns leave that part out?” 

You see just a flicker of doubt cross Gideon’s eyes, spurring you further. He prides himself on knowing all. Make him doubt everything he thinks he knows.

“And tell me Moff, what happens to your little scientist when he’s gone too long without producing results? I’m willing to bet he’s seen you kill your own men firsthand, for far lesser disappointments.” 

He doesn’t respond.

“All he needed was the fuel of a fairytale. He already has his magical sperm donors anyway, hasn’t he? So now all he has to do is put the two together and as long as the child inherits at least something from the father, you’ll never be the wiser.” 

Gideon remains silent, but you can see the muscle in his jaw ticking. You’ve got him doubting his people, so you press further.

“And if you really think the Mandalorian was in this for anything more than a payday, I’d fact- check the information your officers are feeding you too.” You say, glancing back toward Officer Dickhead. 

“Did they tell you he dragged me all over this galaxy in chains? Looking for the highest bid? Did they tell you how many times I tried to escape? Bastard tried to sell me to Jabba’s successor before putting me up for private auction on Hunter’s World. Would have been one of the greatest cons of all time if they hadn’t caught on to his deceit. If those troopers had peeled that tin can off of his head, I bet the look on his face would have matched yours, the day he stole your cash-cow back from you. So if you happen to see him in passing, please do tell him, I send warm regards of Fuck You. ” 

Gideon twines his fingers behind his back as he begins to pace the hall. 

“Uh oh,” you say looking down the hall again. “Officer Dickhead over there looks a little nervous. Was he the one delivering your intel?” you smile. 

Gideon turns back to pace in the other direction, stopping in front of you. He thrusts his fist into your stomach, causing you to drop to your knees. All the air in your lungs escapes in a choking rush. You cup your stomach with shackled hands, your forehead pressing into the floor. Your lungs burn, your mouth agape as your brain struggles to remember how to inhale. You desperately gasp, choking on nothing, as your lungs refuse to inflate. Your stomach burns, and you feel the veins at your temple threatening to burst as your eyes water. There’s no sound, aside from a few small squeaks that you make in an attempt to find the air. Gloved fingers scrape against your scalp, anchoring themselves into the roots of your hair. Your head is jerked back, forcing your throat up just as you feel the first tinge of air attempting to return. You begin coughing and choking, the air burns equally as bad as it refills your lungs. 

He leans down by your face. “I assure you, I will get what I need from you, one way or another. And if I determine you’ve exhausted your usefulness, don’t expect to live for very long.”

He releases his grip on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward as you continue to wheeze and choke. 

"Sub-lieutenant Rund.”

“Yes, sir.” Officer Dickhead replies. 

“I've heard you acquired a penchant for shock-whips during your time on Zygerria.”

“Yes sir.” Officer Dickhead replies, with just a bit too much excitement in his voice. 

“Do you have one on board?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Do you keep up with training?”

“Well,” he hesitates. “It’s been some time…”

“Good. It sounds like you could use a little practice.”

Fear takes up permanent residence deep in your gut, causing your whole body to tremble. You wish you appeared stronger on the outside, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing that you’re scared, but it’s an involuntary reaction when you dangle from magnetic beams in the middle of your cell. They’ve strung you up high enough that your toes skim the floor, but you can’t quite support your weight on them. The result is a terrible strain on your wrist and it feels like your arms are being pulled straight out of the sockets. Officer D relishes in the moment, taking his time to get started, and if you’re being honest, the anticipation of getting struck by a shock whip seems almost as cruel as the actual delivery. If there’s one thing you can be proud of, it’s your absolute resolve not to plead or beg, and so far you’re doing ok on that front. 

His hand slides down, pulling a dark, banded handle from his waistband. He sweeps over the surface with his thumb, triggering a long whipcord to extend several meters, landing on the floor. 

“Anything, before we start?”

He’s baiting you, that much is clear. He wants you to throw fuel on the fire, wants to get a reaction, cause Maker knows he’ll get off on this a lot more. You give him what he wants- not because he prompts you, but because you know he’s going to whip you either way, so you might as well throw one more insult his way while you can. 

“I’m sorry.”

He raises his brows a smidge waiting for it.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s the shape of your hat. It’s totally penis shaped. You see it, right? Like, the whole part up there….it’s just like the tip of a dick.”

He smiles. “There it is.”

He ignites the shockwhip, causing an electric light to vibrate through the cord. It hums and buzzes loudly as he walks toward the door your back faces. Those last few seconds before receiving the first lash are a blur. Your muscles tense waiting for the first contact. The anticipation of pain makes your heart thunder in your chest. You repeat silently in your mind, “Do not beg. Do not beg.” You tell yourself you won’t make any noise at all, but that part unfortunately, is beyond your control. 

The first lash strikes you square across the back. It’s a metal rope snapping you with a streak of liquid fire, followed by a jolt of electricity that makes your back muscles seize. You cry out at the first impact.

The second and third come in quick succession under your left shoulder blade, compounding on the still radiating heat of the first. The fourth strike begins to tear away at your shirt and there’s a new element of agony added when the fabric no longer protects your skin from direct contact. By the eighth lashing, you no longer try to balance on your toes, leaving the entire weight of your body to hang from the shackles above. Officer D is panting loudly, clearly receiving a great workout on his end. It doesn’t escape your notice that he never bothers to ask you any questions or offer you any reprieve in exchange for a surrender to cooperate. 

The stormtrooper watching at the side, runs to the corner and removes his bucket, losing his last meal all over the floor. Officer D yells some obscenities, chastising the trooper's weak stomach and ordering that he be taken away. 

You lose count after that, unable to prevent screaming and crying out with every new strike. Tears soak your cheeks as the sensation of being on fire starts to morph into something along the lines of being flayed by razor blades. Never in your wildest dreams had you even imagined that physical agony like this existed. You had to be on the verge of passing out, and welcome every lash that brings you closer to it. 

You reach a place where you think, “Surely the next one will be the last I feel?”, but continue to repeat it with every lash that follows. That's when you feel the surprising sting of a lash across your buttocks. The previously untouched target, causes fear to surge again. Will he continue until every part of my body has received his whip’s kiss?

The answer comes with another snap across your back, slicing into the already flayed skin. 

No. It was unintentional. An aim and a miss. Perhaps his arm is growing tired? 

You continue to cry, willing your mind to retreat to someplace else. A dark corner in the recesses of your mind. You imagine Mando there and what you’d say to him. 

You’d be proud of me…I didn’t yield.

You did good, baby. I’m real proud. 

You wake from an excruciating sting. It feels like acid dripping on your back. You're face down on a table in Pershing’s lab. 

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s just me.” he says- as if that is supposed to somehow be comforting. 

You cry out as the pain returns. He’s doing something to your back. You try to sit up and move, but your head swims as your entire body rejects that idea. 

“Stay still. I won’t hurt you.”

“You are hurting me!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop, just be still.”

You do as he says, lying back down, but only because your body won’t allow anything else.

“I’m going to give you an injection, so you won’t feel the next part. It will sting for a few seconds, but then you won’t feel anything at all, ok?” 

“Don’t touch me.” you say, unable to put any semblance of actual threat behind it.

He kneels down next to the table, so that he can look you in the eyes. It’s then that you notice he has some fresh bruising on his cheekbone. 

“You’re hurt- badly. I need to put you in the bacta tank for several days. But, before I can do that, I need to remove some debris from your wounds, otherwise they will close around it and become infected. You understand?” 

“Please don’t knock me out.” you say, ashamed that you actually used the word ‘please’. At least it was only for Pershing’s ears. He looks into your eyes and seems to understand. 

“I won’t let them touch you while you’re under. I promise.”

You stare back at him. You both know that he can ultimately do whatever he wants, but for some reason, he is asking your permission. It pains you, but something in your gut is choosing to believe him. You nod your head yes . 

He delivers his injection and the pain melts away. Your senses dull until you’re only mildly aware of what the doctor is doing. One at a time, using a large pair of forceps, he sets down bloodied and charred ribbons of fabric into a metal tray next to the table. After that, your sight washes over as you're suspended into a pool of jelly. Your consciousness floats in the warm waves as all thoughts of this reality disappear. 

---WEEKS LATER---

“This looks good, much better.” Pershing says as he examines your back. 

“The mending of flesh is truly incredible, though I’m afraid it couldn’t be completely made new. Some of these will be permanent scars, I’m afraid.”

Not really caring, you shrug your thin robe back up over your shoulders. He walks around to face your front as you stare blankly ahead. He scans you with his little doohickey and logs whatever it is, it’s telling him. 

“They tell me you’re not eating though.”

You lift up your hands, giving a little jiggle to the manacles around your wrists. 

“They chain me to the bench in my cell.”

He continues to stare in question. You lift your gaze to meet his.

“They leave the food by the door. It’s out of reach.”

With understanding, he leans in a little, ignoring the trooper standing guard in the room, and whispers. 

“If you were to concentrate, I believe you could move the tray.”

That’s exactly what they want me to do.

“Why doctor, whatever do you mean?” you say, sarcastically. 

Pershing clears his throat, standing a little straighter. 

“You can’t carry on like this.”

“You’re going to have to speak up, doctor. I’m afraid my ears are still ringing.” you say forcefully.

He pulls out a retractable otoscope and looks into your ears. After your three week stint in the bacta tank following the whipping, your cell became a hell of its own. You were barraged with sonic torture- a deafening array of arrhythmic and atonal sounds, with no discernable pattern, blasted out from the walls. Additionally, your cell was bathed in a harsh, white light, adding to the attack on your senses, making it nearly impossible to think, let alone sleep. 

These daily trips to Pershing’s lab had become a welcome reprieve from the continuous torture. It was the only time you had to think. Three weeks, three precious weeks had passed in the bacta tank. That time was vital, and had pushed you ever closer to your looming deadline. 

“How much longer do I have?”

“Not long, two weeks, maybe three.”

Two weeks. You have maybe two weeks to carry out your plan. 

After your meeting with Gideon, many things had become clear. For one, he was right. There really was, in all likelihood, no means of escaping this ship. Two, the new objective was no longer to stay alive. The idea of Gideon taking your eggs, of potentially turning your offspring into some kind of sick spy weapon for the empire, of having little pieces of you scattered all over the galaxy, created with evil intent, was more than you could handle. You can not- will not- allow that to happen. 

Your eyes subtly wander the room, landing on the cryo-freezer off to the side. There’s no doubt in your mind- that is where Pershing stores the vials of everything he takes from you. Blood, eggs, and Maker knows what else. You need to destroy it, to eliminate any possibility of that happening. And thirdly, after destroying his treasure trove of stolen biological material, you needed to also destroy his source. Me. 

The only way to ensure Gideon wouldn’t be able to carry out his ambition was to remove yourself from the equation entirely. No Vessel means no offspring. And since escape was moot, that meant death was the only viable solution. And you refuse to view it as giving up. It was a means to an end and the only way to stop what was coming. The question was now, how to do it. You’d have to do it in such a way, that the bacta tank wouldn’t be able to heal you and the IT-O wouldn’t be able to revive you. Ironically, you had Officer D to thank for that bit of enlightenment. 

After you had come out of the tank, you had noticed that Officer D had been curiously absent from his normal post. When asked where his bestie had gone, Dr. Pershing had replied, “Gone. Disciplined for disobeying orders.”

“What orders?”

“Not to kill you.”

“‘S’cuse me?”

“He had direct orders to beat you within an inch of your life, but not to actually kill you. He failed. Apparently, the IT-O had warned him that your life functions were close to ceasing, however he continued to whip you beyond the warning- something about being goaded by your remarks. In any event, he went too far, and the IT-O had to administer lifesaving procedures to bring you back.”

Now you know that however you decide to end it, it needs to be done in a way that prevents them from resuscitating you. Some type of explosion would be ideal. That would eliminate any lasting biological material as well as destroy the cryo-freezer, with the added bonus of ending things quickly and painlessly. The problem was, you had no idea how to construct an explosive. Every time you enter the lab, you silently take stock of the equipment and available chemicals around, but most inconveniently, nothing around you is glaringly labeled as “flammable”. 

That left you with a half solid backup plan. You’d been watching Pershing closely over the last few weeks. You know exactly where he stores the syringes of paralytic drugs. If you could get him to agree to remove the binders on your wrists, you’re certain you could get to them quickly. If you incapacitate him and the one guard, you should be able to get to them in time. You could inject the paralytic straight into your heart. Done and done. You’re no doctor, but you’re willing to be that there would be no recovering from that. Yes, it would still leave your body behind, but….beggars, choosers. 

The days that follow are a blur, a constant and ever-changing gamut of varying torture, ranging from sleep deprivation to hallucinogens administered via the interrogator droid. The nightmares that play out in your head are a mix of dreams and excruciating pain. When it's over, you are little more than a blubbering puddle on the floor, your heart exhausted from racing against the drugs, and your lungs are devastated from all of the screaming. Again, no questions are asked, no prompts for submission are given. It seems they are content to poke and prod, hoping they will eventually elicit you to fight back using a power you have no idea how to wield. And to make it worse, they refuse to let you die. 

You receive a glorious reprieve of peace and silence after one particularly nasty bout. That’s how they seem to like to deliver it- they give you just enough time to recover before starting the process all over again. This time, your cell is quiet and dark, albeit cold. You’re used to the dark, it doesn’t frighten you like it used to. You close your eyes and try to get back to that place on top of the rock- the place your voice could be heard across the stars and where the universe spoke back. You call out for Luke, or anyone else listening, but only silence answers back. Whatever magic mojo that rock possessed, it kept it to itself. 

You think about Mando and how grateful you are that he must have survived. Gideon would have used that against you otherwise. Your heart hurts when you think of how he must have felt. You hope he isn’t driving himself completely mad with guilt, because you know he will be blaming himself. His sense of duty is too strong. 

Please don’t hate me for what I must do. Please don’t hate yourself either. 

Warm tears roll down your cheeks as you lay on the bench, using your arm as a pillow. It’s freezing cold with your naked body laying on the metal- they had taken your clothes away for added humiliation. Pushing those dark thoughts away, you escape to a safer place. You imagine this cold cell is the dark hull of the Crest. You’re curled up in Din’s arms, soaking up the warmth of his body. You imagine the way his skin smells, the way the timbre of his voice soothes your being. The way the soft scruff on his cheek tickles the smoothness of yours. 

Please, forgive me.

Forgiven.

Tell me you’ll find me again, in the next life. 

I will always find you. 

You take solace in his words, even though they are an illusion of your own making. The trance is shattered when the sound of your cell door opens. 

Please, not now. Just a few more minutes. 

You remain still, feigning sleep, with your back to the door as you face the wall. The bright overhead lights roll on and you squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to chase after the dream.

  This might be the cruelest torture of them all. 

The sound of several feet entering the room extinguishes any lingering attempt, and curiosity causes you to peek over your shoulder. You’re taken aback, and fear quickly plummets to the pit of your stomach. Dr. Pershing stands off to the side as two very large men approach you. You quickly sit up, remembering a second too late that your currently sans clothes. You cross your legs, one over the other and hug your chest in an attempt to cover your most intimate places from view. 

The male on the left must be six and a half feet tall. He’s covered head to toe in black and red leather armor, with a heavy looking black cape that reaches the floor. His chest is broader than any humanoid species you’ve seen before. The overall appearance is menacing, but it’s his face covering that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a triangular black visor with an exaggerated oblong shape, flanked by a red cowl. At his back, he wears a double edged vibroblade that you’re willing to bet would be taller than you if placed side by side. 

You try to school your reaction and not give anything away, but the rise and fall of your chest likely hints at your shaken nerves. The man on his right is nearly as tall, despite the fact that he doesn’t wear a mask. He’s human by appearances, with light skin, black hair and piercing blue eyes that seem to look straight through you. He wears a long black cape across his shoulders and silver metal armor, though you can tell by the sheen that it isn’t made from beskar. You’d put his age at about forty and would consider him handsome if it weren’t for the disapproving lines etched on his brow. 

They stop at arm's length and stare down at you. You stare right back, though you can’t seem to conjure any words to speak. 

“What is this Dr. Pershing?” the human male says. “I was told that the vessel was a volunteer - a willing participant in this trial.”

“You’re early. Moff Gideon wasn’t expec-” 

The man cuts Pershing off, with a lift of his hand.

“Where are her clothes?” 

Nobody in the room answers.

“Bring her some clothes.” he squats down to bring himself at eye level. He schools his expression to be a slight gentler as he looks at your face. You feel the slightest brush of awareness in your mind. 

“When's the last time you ate?”

You remain silent, willing yourself not to crumble at the first sign of decency aimed in your direction. This is your enemy. 

“Days?” he persists, looking into your eyes. 

Either he reads your mind, or your silence is confirmation enough. 

“Bring her something to eat.” he commands. 

“What else do you need?”

It’s tempting to refuse. You’re perfectly aware that this may be a case of good guy, bad guy, designed to obtain your trust by way of his sympathies. You promise yourself that this is not a case of rapid stockholm syndrome, and that you might as well take advantage of the gifts. If they think it will warm you to their cause, they are gravely mistaken. 

“Water. A shower. A blanket.... a blaster if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

He looks over his shoulder and nods to the nearest storm trooper, who then rushes out of the room. 

He stands up, returning to his full height once again. 

“I apologize for your treatment. Had I known, I would have come earlier…. They should be treating you like a Queen.”

Your body begins to tremble. The trooper returns, handing you a stack of clothes and the boots you had come in with. You accept it with one hand, keeping your free arm securely pinned across your chest. A few seconds later, another trooper enters the room with a tray of food and water and a blanket under his arm. The unmasked man takes the blanket as the trooper sets the tray beside you on the bench and steps away. The man opens the blanket, whirling it over your head to wrap around your shoulders. You grab the inside corners and pull it closed, tightly around you. 

He turns to speak to Pershing directly. “I want to speak to Gideon now. Take me to the Dark Troopers, have him meet me there.”

Pershing nods to the troopers to follow his instructions and the unmasked man follows them out of the room. 

The masked man however, remains in his position, continuing to stare down at you. Pershing, noticing this, hesitates to leave. 

“Tell me doctor,”  his modulated voice is dark, sending a jolt of fear through your bones. “Why you would have me waste my spend in a cup, when I could have come down here and finished the job?”

“As I said before, I need to run some tests-”

“Waste of time, I can tell you right now, my seed will take root. In fact, I’d be willing to try again…” You begin to shake, your body and mind freezing. What to do?

You squeeze the blanket tighter. 

“That won’t be necessary, she isn’t fertile yet.”

“Hhhhu.” he groans. “Soon, then.” and turns to leave the chamber.

Pershing lingers back after the others have left the room. He kneels by your side placing a hand at your knee. You quickly pull away, revolted by his touch. You shake harder than before, even though the immediate danger has left the room. 

Pershing sighs, “I’m sorry.” 

You don’t bother responding, his apology is worthless.

“When the time comes, I can sedate you…if you want?”

“Sedate me? For my rape, you mean?” you say, boring a hole straight between his plasspecs. “How altruistic of you.”

Pershing leaves the room, a look of shame on his face. 

When the doors close, the manacles at your wrist pop open and a stream of hot water begins to flow from the ceiling in the corner, over a floor drain. Before you step under the stream and enjoy the first shower you’ve had in Maker knows how long, you wonder to yourself, which one was Flint, and which one was Jax?  

Today is the day. I can’t put it off any longer. 

After the visit from the “potential donors”, the torture sessions stopped. Like clockwork, food is delivered, and the shower comes on once a day. They may not have provided the requested blaster or upgraded you to first class accommodations, but they have left you blissfully alone. You wonder if it’s all part of the program, meant to make you trust the unmasked man? More than likely it’s just an indication that the sands in the hourglass have almost run out. Surely they want you in tip-top shape to conceive this hell-spawn prodigy for them. You’re thankful for the calm. It’s given you time to make peace with your decision. 

Today is the day. 

-In the hall outside your cell, Dr. Pershing consults with Moff Gideon- 

“She’s dying.”

“You said she’s fully recovered from the last session. That was a week ago.”

“She has. It’s more than that. Her systems are slowing down, we’re losing her.”

“How can that be, Dr. Pershing?”

Pershing takes a deep breath. “I believe she’s lost the will to live. It’s the only explanation. I’ve heard stories of such things, dying from a broken heart for example…. it’s not something I’ve seen before, but I believe that is what’s happening. She is the one controlling it.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing. This is beyond science.” 

“There must be something?”

“Nothing. I don’t expect her to make it to the window of opportunity. Unless you can give her hope- a reason to live. This will all have been for nothing.”

This is it. You expect your escorts to walk through the door, having come to make the daily journey to Pershing’s office, where you’ll finish this once and for all.

You’re surprised then, when Moff Gideon enters the room instead. His palm rests on the hilt of the sword, sheathed at his side. This is an unexpected visit, which is never a good thing.

Please don’t let it be too late .

It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him in person- not since that day he introduced you to the garrison of dark troopers. Gideon prefers to keep his hands clean, lets his posse of underlings carry out the dirty work for him. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy watching. You’d felt his eyes on you more than once, even if it was through a lens or a one-way mirror.

“I must admit,” he says, strolling into the room. “I didn’t expect you to hold out this much resistance. A brutal whipping, sonic bombardment, sleep, food and air deprivation…” he begins listing off. “And all the while, never using the force to defend yourself. You truly are as stubborn as they come.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Have you ever heard of a memory walk?” he asks. 

Taking your silence as a ‘no’, he continues. “Imagine, having the power to see into someone’s mind, to project your own thoughts as well.” Gideon begins to pace the room while you listen. 

“You could bring a dying man peace, by showing him his loved ones waiting for him in the ether…or, you could bring your enemy to their knees, force them to relive their greatest horrors over and over. Everything from their most embarrassing moments to facing their darkest fears. And all without having to lift a finger. Can you imagine what that power must be like?”

You consider it a moment. “There was that time I got my period in front of everyone, oh…and that one night stand with Dash Obrin- highly regrettable. I definitely would not want to relive that again.” 

“You use your sense of humor as a shield. Imagine instead, if you had the ability to quite literally shield yourself. You have assets in reserve that you aren’t even aware of.”

You hate that he calls you out on it, reads the situation so clearly. 

“Yeah, well…joke ‘em if they can’t take a fuck.”

Gideon inhales for patience. “You’re squandering what you have been given. But we have the means, the resources to teach you how to wield them.”

“Resources? You mean like that masked barbarian in the leather onesie? No thank you.”

“If you would take a moment, I encourage you to let go of that pride, you might be able to see things differently- see the opportunity that lies before you.”

“Opportunity? Only you would view an unconscionable violation of this magnitude, as an opportunity.” 

“You have a gift. You are capable of power, few in this galaxy will ever understand.”

“I see.” You snort, a mocking sound of indifference. “It’s so clear now, you’re jealous.”

Gideon stops his pacing, turning to stare down at you.

“They have a power you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life pining for. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives you take, or civilizations you destroy, you’ll still never be as powerful as them.” Hoping to strike every nerve in his body, you continue. “And if you can’t have it, you’ll, what? Find a way to control it in someone else? You’ll never have the power they have.” 

His jaw begins to tick, his anger showing by the twitch of his mustache. You definitely found the weakness in his armor- his pride. 

“You tell me, who’s in control here? You’re the one in shackles.” Maker, his voice is grading. Every word out of his mouth comes out sounding like a lecture. He’s trying to goad you, to get you to lose your temper. And it’s working. 

“Let’s face facts, your little torture sessions proved nothing, I’ve given you nothing.” you say, mocking his failure.

“You’ve given me everything!” He snaps back. “All these weeks, enduring the pain and suffering…I’ve never seen anything like it. Most break within the first few hours, but you…” he shakes his head, “Not you. You must be very powerful indeed. Imagine what you’ll be capable of when you stop holding back and embrace the power before you.”

Your heart begins to race at the implication. Is it possible that everything you went through was in vain? “No.” You shake your head. 

“Did you not know? That your numbers climbed after every grueling session? You may not have fought back, but you were using the force to keep yourself alive.” 

“That’s not true, that can’t be true.” All this time, it was for nothing.

“Lying to you, does nothing to serve me. You on the other hand…you are very convincing.”

Your hand begins to tremble. 

Just tell him what he wants to hear, tell him whatever it takes to get you into Pershing’s lab, so that you can end this game once and for all. 

“Fuck you. I don’t care what you believe.” 

“If it’s any consolation, you almost had me convinced….Not about the force. I knew that was just desperation on your part.”

He smiles, with all the arrogance of someone who holds an ace in their pocket. He tosses you a small object. Out of instinct, you raise your cuffed hands to catch it midair. Opening your palm, you see a small handheld holoprojector. 

“What’s this?”

Gideon turns to leave, his cape swirling around his feet dramatically. 

“A reason to live.” he says, before the door closes. 

Once you’re alone again, you find the courage to activate the device. A clear holo projection of Mando, in full beskar armor, alive, and well, and strong, stares back at you. His voice, resolute and intent, threatens a promised retribution, as he recites back words, once delivered to him. 

Moff Gideon, 

You have something I want.

You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not.

Soon, she will be back with me. 

She means more to me than you will ever know. 

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A/N: As always, kudus, hearts, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Inspired soundtrack in my head this chapter: The Mandalorian || Flesh and Bone - YouTube

Faithful Readers: @mandosmistress @mandomover @yeetusfeetus3000 @wildmoonflower @littlemisspascal @starwars-thirst @spideysimpossiblegirl @mominousrex @toobsessedsstuff @pickledbeskar @brunette-overalls

Taglist Request

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

Rambling Anon with another thought for you

So the title of Separate Ways I think it's interesting that's the way they translated it (because in Japan, Ada's campaign is called The Another Order). But, I like it.

I think a lot of people (especially the antis) see those words and think separate as in "opposite" and "disconnected". Leon's line in the remake, "This is where we go our separate ways" I think some see that as Leon telling Ada they're heading in opposite directions. That they're paths cannot align. Leon is going to go rescue Ashley and get her home and Ada's going to do... whatever she's going to do.

But we know that's not the case. They continue to meet in every title they appear in. Even though they're choices give them different paths, they're heading in the same (or at least similar) directions. Like parallel lines, but not entirely. Because their paths do continue to cross and then split again.

Separate Ways is Ada's path through 4, but it is not unconnected from Leon's path. Leon and Ada start is different locations, but they end up in the same location at the same time several times. Always they split up, even if this goes unnoticed by Leon most of the time, Ada is always looking out for him. Throughout every title, they travel similar paths to arrive at the same destination and then split back up again in a seemingly never-ending loop.

Yes their paths are separate at times. That is the key. At times. Those two are deeply connected to each other, they could never be completely separate from one another, not after Raccoon City. Leon's line does not reflect a complete end. It marks a temporary one. I feel like there is an unspoken "but" there that some don't pick up.

"This is where we go our separate ways, but..."

"This is where we go our separate ways for now."

Yes, they go separate ways when going about their jobs, but its important to note that despite these separate paths they take, they continue to reunite. Over and over.

hello!!!! my dear

yes, separate ways was always called another order in japan, that's also how data miners were able to find it.

another order also implies that it's just another way of doing things, whereas separate ways could just be interpreted as another way of doing the same things, which is clearly was og separate ways was, since there were many instances when playing ada that you can see leon in the background but it prohibits the player from seeing leon

"i can't let leon see me here"

i actually kind of hate the separate ways line, not because of the "angst" but because i hate whenever media does the whole marvel, we need to spell out something that's a thing that's coming

like we KNOW separate ways in another campaign..-

the people who think that ada is just fucking around during re4 (both) are SO FACTUALLY WRONG THAT IT MAKES ME LEGIT GO NUTS

separate ways is JUST ADA MAKING SURE LEON DOESN'T DIE

(let me be clear, her "having to do her job" does not supercede the fact that she DOES NOT NEED TO BE HELPING LEON. she is ACTIVELY CHOOSING TO HELP LEON) (this is more for people who do not understand how choices are made lol)

"This is where we go our separate ways for now."

this MAKES sense because they've written leon to be quite angry and resentful in re4r. like he's LEGIT ANGRY at so many things (which is fair) and i hate the argument that leon's depressed in re4r because of ada, BITCH DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS ALIVE AT THAT MOMENT. he was depressed about raccoon, the government, the training. and then further into the future, the fact that his units ALWAYS END UP DYING AND HE IS LEFT AS THE LONE SURVIVOR. he has MASS amounts of survivors guilt from his family dying and him being orphaned.

but YES

leon and ada have specifically been written together for +25 years, even at capcom, they are paired together for things like menu items lmao.

re4 aeon has always been my least favourite aeon tbh, so that opinion has not really changed in re4r. re6 aeon will always be superior to me lol

[leveragedlibrarians]

Ok I was going to put this in the tags but it was too long so uh

Look. Everyone is going to point to nate and say that obviously he's the normal one but you're WRONG. The series premiere he tells us he used to run game on criminals to get stolen merch back. We all saw what happened between s1 and s2. Not to mention his father, his childhood, and the fact he was going to be a priest. Nate Ford may be an unseasoned piece of plain white bread of a man, but he has never ever been 'normal.'

Sophie lives for the drama. The glamor. The chase. Her 'normal' would probably be retiring to a little island off the coast of Sicily in a mansion full of art she stole and every now and again going off to some charity event as whatever fake identity she feels like pulling out of the closet.

Parker never had a normal to start with, not that she'd ever want one. She was born to commit crimes. Not just raised to (Archie my nemesis) but she /chose/ crimes. The earliest memory we see is of her stealing. She loves it, she lives it. She'll be in a retirement home stealing tapioca pudding for the kicks.

Hardison would never even consider a 'normal' life, okay? He'd be insulted at the prospect. He's /gifted/. Hacking is an art and he is an artist. He is the greatest hacker in the world and takes so so so much pride in that. I don't think Hardison could stop hacking if you paid him.

But Eliot? I think not only is Eliot the only one capable of normalcy, but I think part of him craves it. It's important to note that of all of them, he didn't initially seek out his role of being a hitter. The rest of them chose their roles, but Eliot didn't sign up for his. He joined the army. He didn't do it for the violence either, he did it because he wanted to be like his dad. Then he was just too good at his job, and kept getting pulled down darker and darker roads by his commanding officers.

I fully believe Eliot had a totally different life planned out. He was going to join the army, marry Amy, have 2.5 kids and settle down, maybe inherit his dad's shop. In s4 he tells Nate that he used to be someone completely different "before all of this started." He wasn't born a killer or a hitter. He was a kid who joined the army and "had god in his heart" and, importantly, Eliot still keeps looking for the person he used to be. We never see the rest of them lamenting the 'good ole days,' we never hear hardison talk about before he learned to hack except that he played the violin before /choosing/ to hack instead. Of all of them, I think that if Eliot could go back in time and change it all he absolutely would.

Over and over we see Eliot bonding with every kid and middle class character in the series. He throws himself into his grifting roles- miner, chef, singer- because I think on some level he /wants/ that. He wants to be the chef who owns the lil restaurant down the street, the guy you could grab a beer with. He wants to settle down, maybe get married, and leave the violence behind (except maybe to play hockey or box). I'm not saying he doesn't like his life with them at all- I think that after all he's been through already that Leverage is probably the happiest ending he could get- but I am saying that the middle part, between the army and when we meet him s1, is probably something that makes Eliot genuinely hate himself. He didn't want to be a killer. He doesn't like it. He tries desperately to save Nate from what he couldn't save himself from. If he liked killing, liked any part of the wetwork he used to do, he wouldn't have quit. Wouldn't have tried so desperately to get away from it. He never wanted to be a killer, he was just so Good at it.

Eliot was the normal kid next door who got pulled into a life that he hated by people far far more powerful and dangerous than him, and I think that he regrets that every day.

Sophie: Who would live a normal life outside of this job?

Eliot: Me. It would be me.

Me: *thinking about it*

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

[writing-mlm]

late night snacks

Rin Okumura x Male reader

word count: 1k

warning: a kiss and like a single curse

      Things at True Cross Academy had finally started to settle down, buildings were restored to their former glory and people stopped looking over their shoulders so much to where sleeping was something almost foreign. But it was also exam season and the amount of studying you had to do was pulling you in every possible direction, with regular class studies, exorcist studies and your part-time job you barely had any time to yourself. 

    Which, coincidentally also meant you had little time to freely speak to your boyfriend. The only time you did have was passing in the hallways and sometimes during cram school ever since Yukio had placed him in the back for being a distraction.  And with Rin he hates not being able to do what he wanted, he would plead for hours to come to your dorm house or your study group whenever he could but to no avail. 

    You could tell he was pretty hurt by it, he must’ve assumed it was because of his whole being Satan’s son and all- which it wasn’t. In no way were you afraid of Rin, the same boy who tried to carry you to the infirmary when you fell off of a desk wouldn’t even think to hurt someone he cared about. So you decided to make it up to him by making him something. 

     It didn’t take long to figure something out, he loved food and you could bake well- your mother was the only person who had ever tasted your baking before so you held her praise lightly. You decided on cookies, some you could make a lot and have them be totally different within a somewhat short amount of time. Plus they were easy to munch on. 

    “Thank you so much, Bon! I didn’t expect to get so much,” You chuckled as he set the last of the grocery bags on your bed and huffed. 

       “I dunno why you’re trying this hard, Okumura is just being a baby. Get him a rock and he’d be happy.” While you had dumped the contents of the bag onto your bed, you stopped and turned to him with a slight glare. 

       “I like rocks- Rin gives me some all the time! Even Kon and Shiemi!” To prove your point, you gestured to the shelf of rocks (and some shells) behind him. He paused and turned back to you, almost disappointed that you’d be won over by minerals. But he left it there and the room, the door silently shut behind him left you to your thoughts and copious amounts of cookie making supplies. 

——

     Almost three hours later and you were finished with the baking and presentation for the cookies, there were around a dozen different types of cookies laid out on the platter. Your favorite being the dinosaur shaped ones. 

    It was around nine, so Rin would be at his dorm within the next hour so you had time to do some last minute preparations like wash the dishes and make the ice cream sandwiches you said you would only make if you had the time. But as soon as you turned around to face the sink you heard the laughter that could only belong to one boy. 

     “(Y/n)! Woah- look at that!” He shouted, having noticed the kitchen light was on and the smell coming from the back. It didn’t take long before he parted from his brother and entered the kitchen, his tail rapidly moving behind his back. 

         “Hello, my dove,” You smiled, although you were nervous beyond belief. There was still so much to do and you hadn’t even tasted the final project- what if the cookies tasted horrible or they were undercooked or worse, overcooked. You didn’t want to make scones! 

       “Did you make these?” He asked as he dipped his finger into the batter bowl and shoved some raw dough into his mouth. 

      “Uh- yeah, I wanted to just apologize for not spending time with you recently,” There was something about the way his eyes lit up and the way he smiled that made you forget about your worries. The pit in your stomach filled with butterflies as he scooped up a cookie and scarfed it down without a second thought. 

    “This is so good!” His eyes lit up as he wiped the crumbs from the corner of his mouth.  

        “Thanks… ah well, eat up, Rin!” You said as you moved away from him and grabbed the ice cream in an attempt to hide whatever expression you were making since you were sure it was nothing short of embarrassing. 

          “You never told me you were such a good cook, (y/n)!” 

       “I bake for fun, it’s nothing big,” You quickly dismissed and set down the vanilla ice cream before doing your best to leave the kitchen without bypassing Rin who had gone back to eating as many cookies as he could without choking. 

         “My stomach says otherwise.” It didn’t take much for him to grab your hand and pull you close, his tail wrapped around you for good measure. 

         “Rin, it’s nothing really. Plus I’m super tired, I should get back…” As you spoke, you tried to unravel his tail from around you and leave, the butterflies in your stomach did nothing but fly around faster. 

    “Okay, but you should have some. It would be a waste for you to not have some,” 

    “Fine, but then I have to go,” While you were getting situated to standing on your own again, Rin was getting a lunch box for the cookies. 

       “I was thinking-“ He slowly spoke as he closed the lid to the box. “We could have a picnic, with your baking skills snacks will be like- a thousand times better!” 

     “It’s not that good, Rin, please,” By the time he had finished you had slipped your jacket on and grabbed your phone from one of the kitchen tables. 

       “It’s amazing,” He whispered as he placed the box in your hand and kissed your cheek. 

     “I- uh-“ You blinked, unable to find what you were going to say and he laughed before walking you out of the dorms. 

[shofics]

So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space. 

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.  

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

//

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

//

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

//

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

//

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

//

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

//

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

//

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

//

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

[umbreonix]

On link's first April fools day or the one that happens when the channel starts getting big, for his prank he actually puts in a bit of effort. Thing is, he's making Moza's dishes. So, it's a high quality, 4k 60 fps of link cooking the "Lavish Meat" dish, the "Ancient Meal,"(or something like that) and the "Ultimate Survival" dish. So basically, for April fools day link ruins your day. (He would of course put a warning at the start/end/middle/in the corner that says do NOT try to make these because he doesn't want people to ruin their kitchen) Bonus points if it's in Revali's house and he doesn't know.

Ooo yes XD Tbh I was thinking Moza might in herself be a minor minor character (mentioned once or twice but never interacts with main cast)

Maybe a rock hard food...

Random fic clip incoming because I am clearly in a write-y mood today for anything that isn't one of my current fics:

Revali dropped his bags dramatically at the entryway. Shopping was exhausting.

He deserved some recovery time from this ordeal. Perhaps a long hot soak with that cocoa butter bath bomb he got from one of those pop-up vendors at the mall was in order.

The thought was interrupted by the sounds of pots and pans clanging around. He rose an eyebrow at the apartment’s security panel as if it might actually understand his exasperation. “Come now, part of your job is to keep out riff-raff like that dirty little beach vagrant. You didn’t let him in again now did you?” He asked, running a hand along the nearest wall. There was a coddle-y cooing tone to his voice that often came out whenever he addressed the Medoh Suite’s smart system.

Of course there was no response, AI technology was coming a long way but it was certainly another fifty years minimum before it gained the awareness to snark back to his sarcastic remarks. Or maybe this was her response. Her silence seemed almost passive-aggressive. As if telling him ‘you were the one who registered his face in the first place.’

Well no matter, he was in now. Revali readjusted his hair in the mirror and moved to greet his interloping guest.

Any witty comment he had locked and loaded on his tongue died at the sight before him and all he could utter was “The f@%#?”

Link turned to look at him with that blank look of neutrality he was learning to hate more and more every day. All it ever did was make him look like everything he did was an overreaction, and Revali had never overreacted to a single thing in his twenty [redacted] years of life! His reactions were always EXACTLY what was necessary and proper to a given situation. If anything, the rest of the world underreacted.

“SURELY,” he said stalking towards the marble island. “Surely you did not let yourself into my suite, take over my kitchen, and ding up my cookware for this ridiculously childish attempt at an April Fools Joke?”

Link just looked at him with an utterly serious expression. “Joke?”

Revali squinted at him. This was what he meant by underreactions, figuring out sarcasm on Link was like solving the world’s most obscure puzzle.

“Do you take me for an imbecile?” Revali said. “Do you honestly think that you can bluff your way with that bland face of yours into having me both forget that it’s April 1st and that ‘this’-“ he waved a hand at the dishes already completed. “is all inedible?”

He seemed to have cooked the various dishes entirely with rocks. The presentation was surprisingly nice but that certainly didn’t trick him into thinking anything was palatable.

“It’s edible,” Link said, still not a single twitch of his lips indicated that he was being anything other than dead serious. He looked almost bored. “Minerals are important to the human diet, there is a way to cook the stones so they soften and break up and can be eaten directly. How do you think they extract minerals for vitamins?”

“You’re not convincing me of anything,” Revali scowled. “This is tiresome, I know you like to get your rocks off from taunting and tormenting me, but just give it up. I’d ask you to replace any scratched-up pots you damaged in this sad endeavour but we both know you can’t afford that- IS THAT MY IMPORTED CERAMICS YOU’RE USING?” Revali blanched. Those were worth more than Link probably spent in a year!

The aspiring chef did not even flinch at the rock pun nor the onslaught of Revali’s following verbal barrage- one which lasted a good few minutes and stretched the range of his vocabulary up into the firmament, reaching the apex of what the English language could achieve. If only they could, poets would study this rant for centuries until it became mandated material for every highschool HP English class. Yes, it could have been a classic if it weren’t for all the angry vulgarities interspersed throughout.

“-and how about you, from now on, take your extreme frugality and apply it to the way you care for my own belongings as well!” Revali finally said. He backed up a little and scuffed imaginary dirt off of his shoulder, as if just being that close to the blond sullied him in some way. He then scowled as he noticed the small rivulet of sand in his sink leading down towards the drain.

“Come now, you had to know that is bad for the pipes, you did your own plumbing for that dilapidated, former drug-den, off-the-grid, sand-filled shack you call a house did you not? Just admit this was a terrible joke that fell flat and we can clean this mess up.” He had leaned in so close to the blond he could pick up on all the grey-blue fibrous shades that rippled like ocean waves in his irises.

Link leaned forward as well, the first hint of any expression crossing his face- and it was absolute, blood-boiling, smugness. “No.”

He took a spoonful of pebble soup and popped it into his mouth.

Revali froze. Yes, he wasn’t an idiot. What he was always forgetting was that Link was.

“Wh- Show me your mouth right now! YOU DID NOT JUST SWALLOW THAT!”

He took a step towards Link and Link took a step back. He did however show his mouth and there was horrifyingly nothing in it.

“And under your tongue?” Revali asked, actually getting quite nervous.

Link didn’t comply to that one.

Soon the multimillion-dollar beauty icon was chasing the wild beach bum around his kitchen island with the frantic worry of a weary dog-owner.

When he finally did catch him, it was a no-holds-barred scuffle. Link burst out into a delighted laugh as he tried to escape Revali’s hold… then immediately paused with a shocked expression.

“You just swallowed it for real didn’t you?” Revali asked.

Link nodded, looking pale.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” He asked.

Link was already at the door and he tossed Revali his own keys. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.

The pair rushed out the door.

Link’s livestream was forgotten.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

Loosely based on a really wacky dream I had sometime last week. It seems to have been a bizarre reworking of The Force Awakens, but I really liked some elements of it lol

Nobody escaped the stormtrooper program. They drilled that into him over and over. It was one of his first clear memories, being shown what happened to "deserters". Faulty troopers went to reconditioning. Deserters went to "decommissioning". They'd learned that from Kamino, apparently.

Nobody escaped from the stormtrooper program. But that didn't mean FN-2187 wasn't determined to try.

Something was calling him, urging him to act. He didn't know what it was -- a memory? Instincts? -- but somehow he knew that if he stayed in the bunkers for one more year, his life would be in danger. That was why, as soon as his platoon were declared to be fifteen years of age in a deadpan announcement of duties, FN-2187 volunteered to take part in a scouting mission to a mining world they were supposedly going to negotiate with.

Phasma praised his initiative. That had been happening more since his last marksmanship tests, he'd noticed. Somehow, he always knew when her eyes were on him. It was like being watched by a hungry Krayt dragon.

FN had never seen a Krayt dragon. He couldn't remember where he'd heard of it. His bunkmates thought he was making it up until he'd showed them in data surveillance lessons. Maybe he'd learned about them in the time Before? When he was still with the man with kind eyes and the woman who laughed so warmly?

FN wished he could remember more of their faces than that.

[[MORE]]

On the mining world, he was the perfect cadet. Instantly responding to orders, quick to point out possible ambush sites if the miners felt inclined to violence. He conducted himself as if he had an eye on ascending through the ranks, like some of his peers. And all the while, that mysterious "voice" called to him, as if it was telling him to watch for something, or to be ready.

The boy saw his opportunity when the party crossed a narrow bridge to meet the ombudsmen. There was nothing beneath it but a deep, craggy, chasm. And conveniently, no safety rails on the bridge. It was almost too easy to stage the accident: he'd made sure he was standing next to FN-TR8R, a boy who resented the attention FN-2187 was getting from the officers. TR8R was just jealous enough to do the occasional stupid thing like shove fellow cadets when officers' backs were turned. Banking on this, FN pretended to worry about the bridge and edged closer to his fellow scout.

He was absolutely terrified, he didn't have to fake that. Nobody escaped the stormtrooper program. Nobody! If he didn't get smashed to pieces on the rocks below, he'd be executed for sure! But if he just kept his head down and marched on, he feared he would lose more than his few childhood memories.

TR8R made a barely audible scoff and shoved FN away from him. Security footage would later show the smaller boy flail once, then disappear over the ledge. TR8R would claim he'd slipped.

FN knew good and well he shouldn't have survived that fall. But as he plunged past the support pillars, he just...stopped.

He hadn't landed, he just wasn't falling anymore. He was floating in midair, staring down at wickedly sharp rocks. FN thought of propaganda footage of Kylo Ren, launching enemies through the air with the Force, and fear gripped him. Had he been caught? Was Ren here?

Slowly, he was lifted back up a few feet by unseen hands. They pulled him up onto a ledge on the middle support pillar and dropped him gently onto cold stone.

"Finn Finn!" said a tiny voice.

FN-2187 slowly looked up, afraid of what he might see.

Crouching in front of his face was a very small being with long, pointed ears. His eyes were wide and expressive, and a huge smile covered his face. He pointed a tiny, gloved, hand at the boy and said again, "Finnnn!"

"What?" a second voice, much deeper, responded.

FN sat up quickly to find himself staring straight into the eye slit of a Mandalorian helmet. The Mandalorian was in the middle of planting detonation charges on the bridge supports, and he seemed to be staring at FN.

"Buir! Buir, das Finn!" the green child squeaked happily, "Oooh, Finn a big 'ad now!"

The Mandalorian immediately crouched beside his tiny companion. "Kid, you can't be serious. That's a First Order cadet."

"No!" the child -- he sounded like a preschooler -- argued, pinning his ears back, "No no no! Das Finn! Fee fi fo fay finnnnn!"

"Grogu, this better be a Force thing. There is absolutely no other reason for you to know a Junior Stormtrooper's name."

"Um." FN flinched as the two turned to look at him. "I don't...know who Finn is. But...can you help me?"

Mandalorians and the First Order hated each other, right? The tugging at FN's soul seemed to be pointing straight to the man in beskar and the little green guy in makeshift armor. They had to be able to help him! They were sabotaging the bridge, for crying out loud!

"We have a job to do," the Mandalorian said bluntly.

"I- I can help!" FN said impulsively. "Just please, take me with you! I need a way off this planet!"

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet slightly, and FN sensed that he was being stared at again. After a three second eternity, the armored man nodded.

"Hand me those charges. Grogu will keep you from falling. If you try to double-cross us, it won't end well for you."

The wave of relief that hit FN almost brought him to tears. "You won't regret it!" he stammered, "I promise!"

A little uncomfortable, the Mandalorian patted his shoulder. "Uh...okay, kid. Let's just finish up so we can get out of here."

The First Order enforcers were about to be in for a rude surprise.

[dreaminpetals]

hope this isn't too specific but if possible can you do ronald of ness norton sfw/nsfw hcs? ♥︎

🎩 ronald of ness ー sfw & nsfw hcs

SFW ;;

♡ going off the atropos ropes event, ronald of ness has the personality of a commoner but lives his life disguised as a snobby noble. he hates how high and mighty nobles act and only makes pleasantries with those fools for the money and connections.

♡ from the way he holds his teacups to his posh vocabulary, everyone would assume he was a noble born and bred. yet when ronald is alone he's like a mole who lives in the dirt. all about vulgar speech and being unkempt; feral.

♡ he values wealth and status above all, likely because he grew up poor. so he's going to want to spend his life with someone from a good family that has their pockets lined with gold.

♡ his ideal s/o is a noble who doesn't act like a noble, so he has little to no experience in romance. nobody meets his extraordinary standards for a lover. he isn't one for flings and flirty interactions with strangers, he wants to settle down with someone who accepts him for who he is and can give him a comfortable life. he views his inner circle as shallow snobs who aren't worth his time so i doubt he'd be interested in dating someone from there.

♡ he's a hopeless romantic until he meets you.

♡ his first time meeting you was during one of his performances and you nearly stole the breath from his lungs as he belted out his lines.

♡ he's all about appearances. spotting you in the front row lead to him falling for you on the spot. your shimmering jewellery combined with your formal attire and extravagant hair had this man imagining a married life with you before you spoke your first words together.

♡ as if your looks weren't enough, he saw you guide a lost child back to their parents and didn't let them pay you when you returned their kid. you didn't care about the money, just the safety of others. he likes a selfless person to compliment how greedy he can be sometimes.

♡ ronald is a smooth talker. once the curtains fall he'll kiss your hand as you're gathering your bags and invite you backstage, eager to show you all the trophies that line the shelves of his dressing room. if you listen to him boast about his accomplishments then he'll never let you go.

♡ he finds you as radiant as the sun, you're a noble who's bent on supporting others financially but doesn't brag about it. it's just second nature to you. you handed him a tip worth a couple thousand dollars because of how enjoyable his performance was, which he used to reserve an elegant dinner date for you two.

♡ he feels so stiff around you at first because he fell in love with you before getting to know you. on your first date however, he learns about how you grew up poor just like him and sees you're more similar than he initially thought.

♡ although you know table manners, the way you eat in front of ronald is the same way you'd eat while having dinner at home. every laidback ministration of yours goes straight to his ice cold heart, the glaciers melting as he falls for you harder and harder.

♡ as a boyfriend, ronald of ness is... extreme. he burns thousands of dollars on you everyday. he never simmers down about how you're his entire world, he kisses you with vigor every time you enter or exit a room he's in. he's an arrogant romantic who's constantly spoiling you.

♡ he'll buy you the entire galaxy if you ask. lavish jewellery, a swim with dolphins, a yacht, backstage tickets to all of his shows. anything you wish for, he's delivering it wrapped in gold ribbons.

♡ the house you live together in? that's a castle.

♡ the bed he bought you was made for affectionate nights. his idea of a perfect cuddling session is you reading separate books snuggled up to one another. dozens of pillows and warm blankets keep you company when ronald is away, his scent still lingering on the fabric.

♡ ronald is a storyteller, so he'd love to read to you as you snuggle. he can do super convincing accents that always draw out giggles from you.

♡ he can be a bit hotheaded and jump to conclusions. if you aren't thrilled about a gift he buys you, he might take it personally and it'll wound his pride. if you're unhappy with one aspect of him the walls come tumbling down and he thinks you won't love him anymore.

♡ words of reaffirmation are how you can most effectively communicate your love to him. praise him and be there for him when he has episodes of extreme rage or sorrow.

♡ act casual with him. he'll know you love him if you plop your feet up on a nearby table or burp or something. hearing you make risqué jokes or swear when you stub your toe grounds him in reality.

♡ he doesn't like enclosed spaces or indoor areas much (ronald was never a miner so there's no accident, but norton's claustrophobia does carry over to all his skins.. a universal constant) so his favourite dates are exotic beaches or sprawling fields of flowers. he'll take you to a five star resort and give a toast to your eternal love as you clink your glasses together.

NSFW ;;

♡ this man is the most reckless spender to ever exist, so he's probably blown thousands on love hotel rooms, toys, and lingerie for both of you.

♡ he wants to be praised. no, needs to be praised. as an actor, ronald of ness' ego is maintained by critics worshipping him and his fans obsessing over his every move. when he isn't being showered in compliments his insecurities kick in and he starts to feel washed up, so he's developed quite the praise kink.

♡ tell him he's the sexiest man you've ever laid eyes on, that he makes you horny, and that nobody can fuck you like he can. every word you sing goes straight to his dick, especially since he knows you're being sincere and aren't acting.

♡ if you tell him that you've masturbated to one his performances before, his cock would ache from how badly he needed you. the idea of his love watching him perform and needing to touch themselves to his work drives him absolutely mad with lust. it doesn't just turn him on, it makes him feel a bit soft that you enjoy his acting and watch it in your free time too.

♡ he'll take you backstage in his dressing room every time you watch him perform. after a successful performance, there's no better way to reward him than deepthroating him in front of his vanity.

♡ huge voyeurism kink!!! let him jerk off for you. please. he does such a good job of exaggerating his moans and bucking his dripping cock into his hand, his hips shaking below him as he strokes himself. when he feels your eyes burning into his skin he couldn't stifle his whimpers even if he wanted to.

♡ loves being the center of attention. when he gives you oral, he demands for you to look at him as his nails dig into your thighs and his tongue licks you to euphoria. say his name if you want to feel him gasp with you in his mouth, he loves hearing his name drip from your lips like honey.

♡ he has a heavy oral fixation in general. when you're sucking his dick it feels like the spotlight is on him and he eats it up, not even trying to muffle his moans and grunts. the most vocal partner you could ask for, he can't help but hang his head back and let loose as you work your magic on him.

♡ swears like a sailor. the string of curses that you pull from ronald in his husky voice never fail to send you into a daze. if only the cameramen and supporting actors could see just how vulgar ronald is when he comes undone! they would chalk it up to a stunt double. "fuck, you take me so fucking well," being hissed into his lover's ear is the last thing they'd expect to hear from him.

♡ such a heavy breather. the way his chest rises and falls erratically with every pant makes waves of electricity pool in your lower stomach. when he tries to hiss out your name but can't catch his breath because he's so overwhelmed... goosebumps.

♡ ronald can afford to make a mess. literally. he's willing to break furniture as he rams into you, it's happened before. he can be very, uh, passionate.

♡ expect lots of roleplaying scenarios from him. ronald has starred in plenty of romantic productions, and he'd be lying if he wasn't turned on by some of the scenes he's filmed. two detectives getting dirty on a desk? you've done that. two soulmates reuniting on the train and not being able to wait to make love? yep, that too. he wants to share his wildest fantasies with you, and is open to trying anything you want.

♡ comment on how you like certain outfits or professions and when you come home after a long day you'll receive a surprise. ronald will be dressed in a uniform you fawned over, acting perfectly in character and ready to please you for the rest of the night.

♡ he'll take on any role you like, whether it's a bottom or a top. just ask. ronald leans towards a top but if you want to penetrate him or take the reins, he's excited to sit back and let you claim him.

♡ loves sex the morning after too. when you wake up with a bedhead and your skin is covered with nothing but blankets. he'd love to have a super tender session in the morning when you're both at your most vulnerable. the smiles he leaves on your skin whenever you yawn or stretch are contagious.

♡ ronald can thrive with elaborate, planned sex or just you two kissing in bed and things escalating from there. he loves the tenderness, and he loves having a muse to reenact his dreams and fantasies with.

[idvlover]

Could u do hcs of Norton, Demi, Eli, and Emily (separately) with a s/o who is doesnt do very well in matches? (ex: weak, bad with machines, bad under stress, ect.) and how they would deal with it? please and thank u ^_^♡

Headcanons for Norton, Demi, Eli, and Emily:

Emily:

She worries constantly about her s/o. Especially if the hunter is already really hard to deal with

Emily reassures her s/o every time they mess up on a calibration. She knows they struggle with cipher machines, but she won't lose her temper over it

When she sees a hunter coming, she immediately sends her s/o away to avoid anything that could potentially down them in almost an instant

If they get hurt, she'll quickly run over to distract the hunter from them, they will circle back to check on how they're doing once she loses the hunter

When healing them she's always constantly asking if they're okay, or do they have any serious injury she needs to tend to

Emily leans her forehead against her s/o's forehead when they're hiding somewhere

She gives them an encouraging pep talk (trying to at least) and tells them that they're going to make it out of the match

If a teammate gets angry with her s/o, Emily will step in between them and tell the teammate to go somewhere else

Emily does not save that teammate when they get chaired, nor does anyone else

Kisses them on the cheek if they're about to separate, saying they'll do just fine

After each match, she will always comfort them because not being the best when it comes to matches can certainly have its toll

Emily will let them hug her all day/night if it makes them feel better

When they're in bed together she always tries to give her best encouraging words for the next match

Even if s/o isn't the best at matches, Emily knows they're doing their best and that's all that matters to her

Demi:

Demi has a bone to pick with the Hunter's every time they go after her s/o first. She knows there are no rules against taking advantage of a survivor's weak points, but it's an issue for her

The amount of times she has taken a wine bottle and smacked a hunter with it should have gotten her banned by now

Demi sticks to her s/o's side. She lets them hold the dovlin while she decodes and tells them to keep a lookout for the hunter

She tries to crack jokes to keep her s/o's spirits up during the match

She'll even flirt with them during the match to keep them from beating themselves up for not being able to vault very well

Pats the side of their face telling them all that matters is that they did their best. Doesn't matter if they win or lose as long as they put the effort into it she's proud of them

Demi will shove her foot up a teammates ass if they got some shit to say

May or may not be the cause that the hunter was able to find that teammate in the locker

The teammate was pissed off, but Demi does that: "aw... are you gonna cry?" In a baby voice before telling them to fuck off

Demi always tells her s/o how proud she is of them after every match. It helps with their motivation and confidence and Demi doesn't want to see them feeling terrible for not being the best in matches

Before a match starts, Demi holds their hand and gently squeezes to give them comfort

After a match, they'll be in their shared dorm and Demi makes her s/o lay their head in her lap just so she can play with their hair and spoil them with compliments

Norton:

At first, he was a bit agitated with his s/o before the relationship

But when they got together he realized that some people just aren't cut out for somethings

Norton keeps his s/o right next to him. He's aware that they can't vault and struggle a lot with trying to place a pallet down, so when they're both running, he's there to help them through kiting

Norton always body blocks them, or if he's too far away he will use his magnets to attract them as soon as the hunter is about to hit them

Like Demi, he gets pissed off when hunters try to take advantage of his s/o's weak points and he is not having any of it

Hunters kind of slowly starting to fear him because his glare is fucking scary

S/o always tries to tell him not to body block because they hate seeing him get hurt. But he never listened

S/o always apologizes profusely when they mess up or get caught. He just shuts them up with a kiss and tells them to stop apologizing

A teammate yelled at them for messing up a calibration. Norton got into a fist fight because they yelled at his s/o, the hunter decided to go friendly because they wanted to see who will win

Norton won

The teammate regretted everything and realized that they are stupid for picking a fight with big miner

Norton isn't exactly great with words, but his body language expresses a lot. His s/o knows that he is proud of them and not upset with them

Norton will just wrap their arms around him in bed and would just say: "you did a good job." And give them a sweet kiss

Eli:

He also keeps his s/o right next to him. He lets them play with Brooke Rose while he decodes

Or if they want to help with decoding, he will tell them when to hit the calibration. Which is pretty helpful

He will shove his s/o into a hiding spot and the hunter will just chase him instead of his s/o

Eli holds his s/o's hand during matches to keep them from getting split. It's also pretty comforting at the same time

He has pretty good timing when it comes to sending Brooke Rose to protect his s/o from getting his. S/o always mumbles their thank yous because of Eli's great timing

While he may not look strong, but he can carry his s/o. He would pick them up and just run from the hunter if there are no nearby hiding spots

Whenever a teammate is being rude to his s/o, he becomes rude right back. No one has ever heard Eli say shut up. The teammate listened because it is extremely unusual for Eli, a very patient man, to say that in an angry tone

After and before matches he likes to wrap the scarf thing around them to give his s/o a sense of comfort

He would nuzzle the side of their face before giving them a kiss

He would make them a warm drink and tell them they did great and that they're improving

Eli would read to them as well while petting their hair. If they fall asleep on him, he'll give them one last kiss before going to sleep himself

[universallywriting]

What if Marinette was a half alien demigod, tasked with protecting the world from expansionist sentient minerals. And Adrian was her Human friend turned love interest.

there is no escape from Steven Universe. There is only SU.

---------------------

Adrien was used to feeling a little useless. Surrounded by those with superpowers with barely anything special to his own name, it wasn't uncommon for him to feel a little left out when spending time with Marinette.

But it was especially bad now because Marinette was coming to him for help. She was practicing with her powers even now, bubbling and unbubbling a stone from the beach because she always took everything so seriously. Even when her shoulders were slumped with the weight of the world, she took it all so seriously.

"When I first realized what was happening, I got scared. But..." She smiled a little. "it's not like I have a choice. These powers are a part of me."

"Are you saying I can't take on any Homeworld gem that comes my way?" Adrien leaned against the railing, examining his nails with his cockiest air as he tried to lighten the mood. He was good at that, at least. "I know you're a worrier, but I'm a warrior. I think I could handle it."

She giggled. "Of course! I couldn't do this without you, Adrien! I just... sometimes I feel like I'm the wrong person for the job. But I don't get to choose, and I guess that makes it easier."

He blinked. "Really? I'd hate that."

"Well, with a dad like yours..." She rolled her eyes and playfully prodded her elbow into his ribs. "But if I had a choice, I'd rip my gem out, hand it to Alya, and go be a fashion designer."

She smirked as she made geometric patterns dance across her bubble. That was nice to see, at least. Every so often Marinette would take a breather from being a hero, and her powers would be something that she would use for fun, to incorporate into her art for those brief moments in time when she allowed herself to be a somewhat normal teen.

"What about a secret identity?" he teased, still trying to brighten her mood. "Marinette by day, crimefighter by night."

"No way!" She shuddered, dropping the bubble entirely to gawk at him. "I could never keep this stuff a secret. I couldn't live without telling my parents and Alya and Nino and you and I don't have to lie or hide or... and..."

Her words failed her, as they so often did when she was overwhelmed and alone with him. He caught her chin and gently tilted it up, barely moving her at all to guide her lips to his for a small peck. She kissed him happily, leaning into the little token of affection, and was bright red when he leaned back despite the fact they'd done it a thousand times.

"And we can be together," he said. "No matter what happens."

Marinette flung herself against his chest, nuzzling into him, and his arms came to hold her close with a familiarity that had become habit. She sighed into his shirt, "I can't imagine how I'd do any of this stuff without you.:"

He hugged her tight. "And you'll never have to."

[rwby-oscar-blog]

Mistral, the land of prosperity, and known to have the highest amount of minerals in the soil for farming, known to have the best crops of food throughout all of remment. But unfortunately two orphans were now homeless, lien-less and with nothing to their names, except for the clothes on their back, a hunting rifle from their father and two hand guns from their mother and whatever they got after the fire happened. Destroying their home and the field that they had a good number of crops growing, but now it's just a burnt field and the charred skeletal remains of a home left. 

This wasn't a home anymore, so Ocsar and his twin sister Olivia both left the homestead, to look for another place to live and to call home. 

Throughout their travels, they were able to stay in a tent that they also had among their stuff after the fire, which consumed their home and killed their parents. Nobody in either villages or small town's would take them in at all. The only way they kept themselves alive was through sheer determination and practice of hunting animals for food. This wasn't what they wanted to do, but it was a better way to get some food and a bit of lien, after selling the fur or anything of the origin to medical doctors in the towns or villages. Olivia was starting to develop into a beautiful woman, but Oscar didn't want her to start selling herself like a cheap prostitute or even being a prostitute at all. So hunting was the only thing to do, or find small easy jobs that they could do.

But for sleeping, it was only in the tent off of the main route in a field or among the bushes, near the main road or path towards the towns and villages. It was something at least. Until they made it to the forest.

It was a mighty thick and luscious forest, that had many of remment's tallest trees in the entire world. "This is a perfect place" Olivia looked at her twin confused of what he ment "wait what, what do you mean this is perfect?" "I'm saying Olivia is that, this place will be our new home" looking around the entire forest, there was barely any room for a tent, let alone a cabin to build. So Olivia crossed her arms above her breasts, looking at Oscar "okay Mr survivalist, where in the hell are we going to build a home, in the middle of a thick forest, there is barely any room on the ground" course Oscar pointed up at the sky or among the tree's.

She looked up at the top of one of the tallest trees, then shook her head "noo way, no i don't like, yo..you do know i hate highests, right?.. Oscar, why?" He shrugged at her "why not?, it's perfect, we will be off the ground. The animals will not be able to step on us, or hunt us down, anyways it's perfect" sighing again at the childest idea from her own twin, shaking her head again. "Okay Mr.toughman how are you, let alone us going to get up the tree and make a treehouse, or a base for the tree house?" Oscar just lifted up both arms, took one big 360 turn around the forest, pointing at the wood that was surrounding them.

Olivia smacked her forehead, she was being sarcastic, she knew about the huge numerous trees around the entire place. Placing her hands on her tight short shorts, sighed "you do know i was being sarcastic right?" He just nodded to her "oh yeah, i know" facepalming herself, he placed his bag on the ground getting some tools out, like axe he took from home "well, no time like the present now, let's get started already and finish the base before sunset" Olivia sigh once again and just went with it, for now.

Oscar got to chop down some trees that looked like they could be useful, checking a tree to see if it was coming down or sick, he chopped it down. It was a slow process, but with Olivia's help, it made the journey of building a home easier, but building steps were first. The temporary wooden stairs were constructed without hassle, they got to a height where it was enough to be invisible but visible to them. They got started on the platform.

Time flew past them as they worked throughout the rest of the day into early to late evening, once it got dark out they stopped working. Luckily they just finished working on the main base, or platform to build their home. But left it bare, with a lamp lighting the area above the tree, they set up their tent and had their dinner. As they ate, Olivia would take a glance at her brother's shirtless chest, he was getting chiseled slowly. Seeing those muscles, she turned red looking away 'damn it he is getting hot, wait' she shook her head 'no he is my brother, i'm not falling for him no way' she sighed once again, Oscar heard that sigh " is everything okay Olivia?" Asking his sister about it, she turned even more red, blankly looking at him.

"No no no I'm fine just my mind went off somewhere" laughing it off, she continued to eat her dinner, shrugging it off was the only thing he could've done for now.

Sleeping was even more of a hellish task, still awake Olivia's heart was beating fast and her breathing was irregularly picking up fast, when she saw Oscar. A few times she caught herself, with her hand on her unzipped short shorts, lightly touching her crotch, softly rubbing herself, she also felt her nipples get hard in her small top, at this point it could be called a tank top. Olivia stops dead in her tracks giving herself a good smack across the face, painful, but effective. So she got up grabbing a towel, headed to the pound that they found just a little ways from the forest. She removed her clothing and jumped into the very cold water, letting out a yell, she shivered and shaked. Quickly she got out of the pound and gave herself a quick dry off and put her warmish clothes back on. 

Olivia felt better, for the most part. But who said her mind wouldn't run wild, in her dreams. Getting back to the platform was easy enough, just reaching the last step. She heard a click, knowing that sound, she again stopped in her tracks. It was dark still, but she saw a small little spark of a light coming from Oscar, she gave a sigh. "Who goes there?" He demanded an answer "it's just me Oscar, Olivia your sister" lighting up the lamp, he pointed it at Olivia seeing her there, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank the brothers you are safe" then it hit him "wait where in the hell were you" "i was using the little girls room Osc really" he sighed again, putting the pistol back into the holdster, he just looked at her. "Well next time just say something" "how can i? When you are still sleeping ?" "Just give me a shake and tell me" this was going over his head.

Saying that she was using the "bathroom" was her own business, not Oscars business at all, even if he did the same, he wouldn't even tell anyone about that either. Still she shook her head "let's get back to sleep and talk about this in the morning" laying back down, in their tent. Oscar was already asleep, but Olivia was still awake, for a bit. Though she did cool down with a drip in the cold pond, she still felt a little itch deep in her core, so getting to sleep wasn't much of a problem. 

The morning came within about 7 hours later, Oscar didn't waste any time at all and continued to build up their new home in the tree. Olivia woke up later after Oscar and joined in with the help to finish or start on the wall of the tree house. 

After 6 hours of work on the treehouse, they managed to get the main house built with a half of the roof already built, but also managed to get three additional rooms made, one was a bathroom completed, the last two were full bedrooms for Oscar and Olivia to use. So with it being lunchtime and a nice break for the both of them, Olivia had caught a good number of fishes to eat for lunch. Sitting around the campfire, eating their lunch Oscar was proud of his and Olivia's hard work on the new home they were building together, being shirtless was very hard on Olivia again, the sweat coming off of his forehead and all over his chest was driving Olivia crazy and awakening her hormones in her again. She was blushing like crazy, giving her head a real good shake to get her mind out of the gutter. "So very close, we are nearly done with this home of ours, but what are we going to put in it?" Olivia heard her twin asking that, but her mind was stripping Oscar down to nothing, yet she doesn't know how big he was or if had a small member.

Oscar looked at Olivia, seeing that her mind was not here, it was just elsewhere. Waving his hand around in front of her face, he called her name " hey Olivia, hello are you there, remnant to Olivia, it's your twin brother Oscar calling want to answer" finally coming back to reality and seeing him standing there, waving his hand around "oh hey Oscar" "finally, welcome back to remnant space cadet, enjoy your trip" she blushed red "oh sh..shut up you" Oscar laughed at her when she told him to shut up like that "take it easy sis, i was only kidding" again he laughed and Olivia just blushed again even more red "so what were you asking me?" Sighing "I was asking what we would need for the house, we don't have any electricity running through this place, as of yet. But we will soon or not" sitting back down by the campfire, finishing up his lunch fish. 

Olivia rubbed her arm thinking a bit, but her mind was still processing if her brother was packing or not, shaking her head from the indecent idea of not knowing her brother's Anatomy. " Well we do need a decent kitchen set up and windows, a fireplace can be good, if we can find clay or something" Oscar nods to those ideas that would make it more of a home and a place they can be truly happy. Nodding to that, he finished his lunch and he went back to work to finish the roof. 

After a couple of hours of working on the roof it was at least now finished, both standing back and checking out their handy work. "Well i do believe we are done now" Olivia smiled at her brother "yep we did, do you think mom and dad would like this" that hit him hard as well as her, when she heard herself repeated to herself in her head, just looking at him with an apologetic eyes as she just looked at him "I'm im.." She felt his hand touch her head and gave her hair and head a rub "Don't worry about it Olivia, mom and dad would be very proud of our hard work on the house we made" he just smiled as Olivia looked sad.

It was hard on them both since their parents had died, and it was hard on both to realize that they were now gone. 

As Olivia was making some improvements in the new house, Oscar looked at the sun. Seeing it was getting dark and it was nearly time for dinner. "Hey Olivia i will head out to hunt for some food" she looked at her brother, as he went to get the weapons. "Wait, what is wrong with fish?" "Fish is okay, but I do want something more than just fish." Olivia nodded in agreement to that statement "and I can see if anyone had left anything we can use outside of town" that would be another idea. The village sometimes throws away anything that they are not using or can't be fixed at all. Oscar took his father's 70 lever action rifle and is taking the matching pistol's ivory, leaving Ebony with Olivia. 

Handing her ebony, she took the pistol and held it "keep this with you, only use this if it's really necessary okay." Olivia nods to her brother "i will be back soon" "be careful Oscar you're the only family i have left" giving her a smile he rubbed her head "i know same with you dear sister, but i do promise i will be back" both smiling at each other, Oscar left the treehouse to hunt for food, as he got off the last step, he lifted up the stairs up concealing the stairs from anyone or anything, that might come their way. Getting his gun ready he walked towards an empty field to find food. Olivia sits there in the silent room, no tv, no radio, nothing but just the pure silence of the evening.

She laid on the bench that Oscar made from the remaining wood, to give at least a bit of furniture in the house. She laid there looking up at the ceiling, slowly closing her eyes, she remembered him being shirtless and getting sweaty from the hard work he did, to build this new home for the both of them. Olivia's hands went from her sides upwards towards the hem of her tight short shorts, unbuttoning the single button, she slowly unzipped her zipper. Exposing her white panties, she slipped off the shorts, moving her right hand up her stomach, moving underneath her shirt and bra, groping herself. She imagined again, how Oscar looked so built and his muscles were developing, so well. She breathed in a sharp breath, as her left hand moved above her panties and between her legs, she started to move her fingers between her pussy lips. 

Moving her finger slowly between her pussy lips,she still imagine him shirtless, but instead, he pinned her to the ground, kissing her neck and groping her d cup breasts in both hand's of his, she softly moaned, while her right hand grope her breast, rubbing it and her nipple in a circle, while her left hand and trigger finger, moved a bit fast up and down, making a wet spot appear. Olivia softly moaned, rubbing her pussy bit more, picking up the pace, in her imagination, oscar was sucking on her neck, rubbing her breast and moving his two fingers around her pussy, she moaned a bit loud, moving her panties to the side, she rub her clit in a circle slowly at first, but picked up pace and speed, then she inserted her fingers into her pussy, moving them in and out of herself.

Moaning loudly now, in her micro dream, Oscar removed all of her clothing and was licking her pussy and sucking on her clit, Olivia naked and on her knees, bending over was plunging her fingers deeper into her pussy and rubbing her clit faster, moaning Oscars name "ohh...Oscar...oh.Oscar". In her micro dream, he plunged his cock into her pussy fucking her like a dog, she plunged her fingers faster, hard and deeper into her pussy, rubbing her G-spot manytimes over and over again. Moaning loudly, Olivia was reaching her limits. With the last few pumps of her fingers in her pussy, she screamed as she squirted all over the bench and half of the floor too. Panting like crazy just after she had an Orgasm for the first time really drained, she looked at her fingers, seeing how sticky they were. Olivia blushed very red, but she heard the stairs being brought down.

With her ears picking up the sound, she quickly got dressed again and cleaned up the mess before he or someone else came up the stairs. So she grabbed the gun ready to shoot the gun, cocking the hammer back till it locked in place, she waited and watched. Then the figure got to the door, opening it she saw it was Oscar, she let out a good sigh of relief. "Welcome back Oscar" "Thanks Olivia, got dinner" showing her the kills he had gotten, she took them from him "okay let me get them cleaned and skinned, then we can eat" "sounds good sister, i will get the fire started" Olivia nods, watching her brother leave the house again.

After a delicious dinner, they had planned to stay outside to enjoy a late night campfire, just sitting around remembering the good old days with their parents. But a sudden spit of rain started to come down upon them both, rushing into the house getting soaked with each step they took, trying to get into the house. Getting in, Olivia started to shiver a bit, so Oscar held her close for a bit keeping her warm for a bit. "Let's get you out of those clothes and into something warm" Olivia blushed like a tomato, being close to her brother like this. They split to their own room, she started to strip down to her underwear, as she got to take off her bra, Olivia felt her heart beat fast. She can still feel his warmth against her body, finishing stripping down, and giving herself a good dry off with a towel. 

Still raining outside and shivering a bit, she couldn't handle it, she needed the warmth of another to keep warm. She walked over to her brother's room, giving a knock she waited for a bit. The door opened, Oscar still awake looking at his sister. "Hey Olivia, you need something?" She nods to her brother, when he asked that "can we cuddle for a bit, im feeling cold" Oscar nods a bit " might as well sleep here since we don't have blankets as of yet" Olivia like the idea, she walked into his room, closing his door as she walked in, would be the last time, they see each other as siblings.

Laying on the ground together, they spooned together. Holding each other close, Olivia was able to close her eyes to sleep, but something hard was poking between her ass cheeks, she then looked behind her, seeing her brother blushed a bit "Olivia its not" she didn't let him finish his sentence, she grinded her ass up against his cock underneath his pants, she blushed as well, but she had a sly of a smile on her face as she grinded more "Olivia" he moaned a bit, looking at him "you like this huh your twin sister's ass grinding you huh" getting turned on more, she was egging her brother on. Hesitant at first, yet feeling this ass grinding up against his cock, he gave in, unleashing his cock from his boxers, he grabbed her ass and really went to town on her ass. Both moaned softly, while she lifted up her shirt, giving her breasts both a rub. She smiled at him 

"Sit on the floor back to the wall" stopping midway through grinding his cock between her ass, he nods. Both getting up from laying on the floor, Oscar crawled up to the wall, putting his back up against it, Olivia crawled as well, seeing how big his cock was, she licked her lips, taking it into her hands, she stroked his cock in her hand. She heard her brother moaning as she stroked his cock more. Then she took the whole thing into her mouth, sucking and licking the shaft, she bobbed her head up and down, taking it all into her mouth. Oscar wanted to grab something, so he put his hand on her cheek watching her suck on his cock, Olivia felt his cock throbbed feeling like it was going to explode. "I'm cumming" he said but too late, he held her head as he shot all of his cum from his cock and balls, drained everything into her mouth and down her throat. Pulling Away Olivia coughed after tasting his cum "im sorry sis" he apologized right away "its okay Osc" she stood up seeing his cock rise back up from the dead, hard girthy, but very thick. Already wet she removed her panties, throwing it at Oscar.

Catching it in his hand, he looked up seeing her wet pussy dripping, she put her hands on his shoulders, Olivia slowly squatted down towards his cock, teasing the head of his cock, she slipped it into her pussy. Finding it hard to get it in, he grabbed her hips and slammed it in, she yelled in pain as he broke her hymen, making her bleed all over his cock "Olivia you were" giving her a nod, she slowly moved her hips up and down on his cock, the pain was slowly going away, being replaced with pleasure, she and Oscar moaned together. Kissing each other and he grabbed her hips still plunging deeper into her pussy more, so she moved up a bit with just the tip inside, she shoved her breasts on to his face, motorboating his sister. But he sucks on them both, sending his whole cock back into her pussy again. 

Both moaning still, Oscar felt his cock throbbing again as he slowly tried to remove his cock from her pussy, but she slammed hard and kept bouncing a little bit of a time " Olivia i'm about….to...cum..let me pull out" " no cum in me give me your seed plow my field" Oscar got harder hearing her say that, both hugged each other, he finally shots his hot, sticky, thick cum into her pussy and womb. Panting and heaving, both laid on the ground together, kissing each other and holding each other in their own embrace, falling a sleep together

THE END